Counting Storms. When the world feels loud, create.

I've been trying to paint something for the wall above my desk for a while.

Originally, I was certain I'd paint a storm. I don't know why. There's something stunning and powerful and inspiring about them, and it felt right. And a more monochrome palette felt right too. I pictured deep greys and blacks, whites, with the subtlest hints of blue or green or maybe even a little yellow.

But when I actually went to paint it, I couldn't get it to come out right.

I took a break. Bought more white. Knew I wanted a white leaning painting, and now I needed to cover up what I wasn't happy with.

Weeks passed. Nothing. Until the morning after the Sunshine Coast Hinterland Writer's Festival, and I needed a way to wind down. Get pressure out of my brain. And to spend quality time with my son after having a weekend without seeing much of him.

And thank the gods that it was a public holiday after that weekend, so I was able to do this.

I asked my son if he wanted to paint, and he excitedly said yes. So I set up our paints outside. Got him a little canvas. My failed storm. And we painted.

Creation is innate to the human race. We've made art and music, danced, and told stories for thousands of years. (Look back to the cave paintings, with the oldest currently dating back to 67,000 years ago in Sulawesi, Indonesia.)

All this time, creative work has told stories, communicated learnings, and passed messages. Told others we were here. It's part of us. And it's crucial to both our surviving AND our thriving.

I wrote a blog years ago about stories being a part of the human condition. We can't NOT create. And I agree with this now more than ever.

I want to update that blog with a new edition, because with the digital world and AI as it is, I think people are worried. Trying to find their space in the world again. Coming back to things they loved.

Because when the world feels loud, we come back to the basics.

Sleep. Simple, good food. Movement. Breath. Fresh air. Friends. Stories. Music. Art.

We create.

And we should create.

There's so much pressure now. So much happening. So much input.

We need to do so much and be so much just to keep almost in the same place.

And if we want to even try moving forwards?

We need to run more than ever before.

I don't know about you, but so often my head feels like it will burst. Forget the storm I wanted to paint. My brain felt like a storm. It was no wonder I couldn't paint it. Because, weirdly, I think for such things we need to be at peace. Mindful. It there is something specific and beautiful we want to make, that is.

So I needed to get everything out of my head.

To make space.

And in this way, art can be a form of therapy too.

We need to make sure we give ourselves time to output. To take what's in our heads and get it out, or it's no wonder it builds up until it hurts and feels like a storm.

Sure, meditation is good. But it's more for maintenance. But if your brain already feels chaotic, it's hard to just sit still. You need to get things out first.

That's where output and creation come in.

Journalling. Recording your voice talking. Drawing. Painting. Whatever creation looks like to you. Just get stuff out of your brain.

(I do recommend something tactile, because I feel when you move your hands, your brain can mull things over as you go.)

So back to painting with my son ...

It was fun. Chatting together. His 3-year-old brain is so interesting. He told me more about what he did on the weekend while I was busy, then, while we painted, than when we talked driving back from the event.

Humans relax more and process things more when doing something together. It's easier to talk.

I found myself just wanting to test things. Whited over the failed storm. Didn't care if it was perfectly covered.

I'd cut up some cardboard from the box of trainers my husband had bought recently. Wanted to keep the card for either practising painting on instead of purchasing proper stuff all the time, or for using as a palette knife of sorts, of any size I needed.

Then, I randomly put paint on the edge of a piece of card. Used it as a stamp. kept going. Testing. Playing. Just letting myself be.

Eventually, my son left to play inside with his train set, and I kept going.

Became more reflective and meditative. Chatted to myself in my head. Focused on the painting. Let it all ease out.

Creating does this. It lets you process the world. Ease out the thoughts.

And though the painting wasn't the storm I wanted to make, I felt amused that the markings I'd made looked a little like tallies, so I entertained myself by calling it 'counting storms'.

And so it stayed, because it really felt like that.

It's best when we make art for ourselves. Art helps us process our thoughts and how we interpret the world.

We need art, for our own soul, mental health, contentment, identity, state of mind. All of it.

It helps us count through storms. Leaves them aside so we can step as normal.

I was a much more present mother after being able to ease my overwhelmed brain that had been crammed with so much information and planning without much pause. After that, I went climbing with my son at the park, rather than stressing from the sidelines.

When the world feels loud, create. Humans need it for our own wellbeing. To learn and look after our own souls.

Make sure you set aside some time for yourself to create something too.

Counting Storms by Sarah Caelan. Acrylic paint on canvas.