The Work is the Anchor - Stillness Is Power
It’s just past midnight...
The garage door is open, and the air is holding still—18 degrees Celsius (64˚F) with not even a hint of wind. There’s a storm somewhere out there, probably over the ridge, not in any rush to arrive. I’ve got a Rusty Nail on ice in one hand, and in the other, a Drew Estate Churchill length cigar—“Factory Smoke” A tasty, slow-burning stick that never lets me down.
Headlights pass now and then on this highway that never sleeps. The distant sound of tires on wet asphalt plays the part of a clock without ticking. And I’m not working. I’m not painting. I’m not trying to create anything.
I’m just sitting. Just being.
This isn’t about burnout.
It’s not a cry for help, or a search for purpose.
It’s the part of being an artist that no one sees—but is absolutely essential.
It’s the end of the day moment. The coming home from “the other” work part of the studio life. No pressure. No noise. Just presence. A lot of you reading this have a full time job to make ends meet when you’re not making art—I know you get this.
Time waits for no one, but time is your friend - © Michael Warth
It’s the sound of the brushes resting in turpentine and the palette lying still—earned rest, not reluctant retreat.
“People look for retreats for themselves—in the country, by the coast, or in the mountains. You have it in your power to retreat into yourself whenever you choose.”
— Marcus Aurelius
This is that retreat.
It isn’t indulgence.
It’s not procrastination.
It’s deliberate stillness—the space between thoughts that makes room for the next chapter.
“If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid.”
— Epictetus
Let them think you’re wasting time.
Let them misunderstand the silence.
You and I both know that this kind of stillness isn’t empty—it’s loaded. This is where the creative magic happens. It is the thought before the brush meets the canvas, or before the words flow from the mind and out into the world.
With thought.
With readiness.
With the kind of invisible work that eventually shows up and finds life in the world.
As artists, we work in seasons. From time to time, we must reflect, think, and process our thoughts.
The hum of the bell is still there.
The big rusty lever is still moving.
We just need time to think.
I often do this (think) with writing. There are journal entries and notes all over my studio and desk—pages I’ve never published or shared. Those writings have slowly shaped my personal artistic philosophy. They’re the foundation beneath everything I make now.
Taking a break - a quiet moment of contemplation - © Michael Warth
That’s what this is, too.
Not a break from the work.
But a continuation of it—through another lens.
So if you find yourself in your own quiet place tonight—with a drink, a breeze, or just a blank page—don’t let anyone convince you that you’re doing nothing.
This isn’t downtime.
This is you, standing still on purpose.
Holding fast to the anchor.
The studio will be there tomorrow.
But tonight, so are you.
So, if tonight is one of those nights for you—quiet, still, and full of unspoken thoughts—I raise my glass. We’re still here. Still anchored. I see you, embrace the stillness, your creative soul is whispering and hoping you will listen.
