It’s a cold, wet, soggy, wintery day at the lake. The kind of day where the sun seems to have vanished into a thick, unrelenting blanket of grey. Not just one grey, mind you. Grey, like any color, has depth and nuance. Is it a cool grey, sharp and icy, slicing through the damp air? Or is it a warm grey, softened by hints of brown or amber, offering a whisper of comfort in the gloom? Today’s grey leans toward the blah—an intensity so muted it borders on indifference. As an artist, I know the power of grey. It’s not just a backdrop; it’s a force, a mood, a character. And today, it seems, it’s speaking directly to me.
Which brings me to today's musing: body energy and the inevitable drains we face. Life demands so much from us—not just physically but emotionally, mentally, and even digitally. To sustain ourselves, we need nourishment beyond food. We need inspiration, connection, and sometimes the courage to walk away from what doesn’t serve us.
This month, I fell into a rabbit hole, one I suspect many of you are familiar with: the vortex of social media, specifically Instagram. As a maker, I create endlessly—metal, glass, art—and sending my creations into the world, into new homes, is part of the joy. But Instagram? That felt like a puzzle I couldn’t quite solve.
In a moment of resolve (or was it desperation?), I joined a Facebook group aimed at helping metalsmiths navigate Instagram marketing. What followed was less a journey of enlightenment and more a detour into frustration. The system, for all its promises, felt like a dead end. My creative daughter, in just two hours, taught me more than this group did in 1 1/2 weeks. It became clear that at this stage of my life, hype and pressure can take a hike.
Communicating through endless texts, orchestrating three "strategic" likes, or obsessing over saves to game the algorithm? It felt shallow. I resigned from the group, only to face backlash. Some members were angered when I shared a post I’d made, as if I’d broken an unspoken rule. The messages laced with angst poured in, until they didn’t. I hit the unfriend button on several accounts, and the noise disappeared.
But the experience left me asking: why did I feel the need to master Instagram marketing in the first place? Was it a desire to feel relevant in this dizzying, fast-paced digital world? Perhaps. And yet, the process left me feeling something I rarely experience in my creative life: blah. Not the good kind of grey—the soft, thoughtful grey of a cloudy day by the lake—but the empty kind.
Thankfully, my muse arrived just in time, in the form of a conversation—not a text, a real phone call—with my two daughters. They reminded me of the wisdom I already possess: when something doesn’t ring true, let it go. Ego, distraction, and frustration will always lead us into ditches, but we can choose to climb out.
Maybe the grey of today isn’t just a mood or a weather pattern. Maybe it’s a metaphor. A reminder that life’s grey areas don’t need to stay stagnant. With a little effort—a stroke of amber pigment here, a touch of warmth there—we can transform the grey into something else entirely. Something brighter. Something truer.
As I move forward, I’m grateful for the clarity this detour brought. For the support of those who matter. For the knowledge that I can still say no when needed. And for the reminder that even on the greyest of days, we have the power to change the tone.
