A Day in the Life of an Artist with Chronic Fatigue: Embracing the Rhythm
A Day in the Life of an Artist with Chronic Fatigue: Embracing the Rhythm
In my last post, I shared what a typical day might look like for me as an artist. But the reality is, with chronic fatigue, no two days are ever quite the same. My days are more of a patchwork quilt than a well-oiled machine—stitched together by moments of productivity, lots of rest, and a good amount of self-compassion.
I showed what an "ideal" art day might look like, but it’s rare I reach that. Some days I’m barely chipping away at tasks, doing the bare minimum. Over the past few days, I haven’t created any art at all. Instead, I’ve been navigating a blend of small admin tasks, each inching me forward, even if just slightly.
For example, I wrote a new artist bio recently. My plan was to print it and drop it off for the art bus to give some context to my work. I managed to order the ink but, when it arrived, things didn’t go as smoothly as planned. I walked my dog, Ralph, thinking I’d drop it off afterward. But by the time finished the walk, I was sweaty, exhausted, and in desperate need of a shower. Suddenly, all I wanted was to hide away and rest. Walking is more tiring than I could have ever imagined, even though for the most part enjoyable. Plus, I decided I wanted to laminate it first, as it didnt take long for the edges to begin to curl, and I realised I needed to order some A5 laminate pouches (only had A6 and A4).
Tasks like this can stretch across several days, each step interwoven with breaks and pauses. Day one was for writing, day two for printing, and on day three, I opted to wait to drop it off laminated and when I wasn’t on way back from a walk despite it being near the bus because I wanted to make sure it looked just right and to not feel and look like a mess.
Despite this slower pace, I’ve managed to accomplish some bigger things too! I applied for and got accepted into another art battle, its been a while since I painted at the 20min painting competition - I just fear it shows art is quick and easy, which while it can have moments of just working, usually its a lot of micro challenges and course corrections along the way. I prepared my work for the People’s Art Fair after being accepted and filled in their submission form, and even emailed to a few art call-outs. I completed a large painting last week, but it took a few sessions, maybe two to four hours at a time, over two weeks. Chronic fatigue means I have to move slowly, I paint quickly thankfully and can convey a lot in shorter time, though some have taken me 50 hours on occasion but I get a lot more done within those 50 hours. Even when I’m motivated, but over time, the little moments add up. I like to think that, in my own way, I’m creating a steady momentum. I also have to remember when I get started I have had longer times too, the bridge commission was tiring but I would paint for 4 hours each time, which seems my maximum for concentration.
Slowing Down to Move Forward
Living with chronic fatigue has taught me a lot about patience. While it is not as bad as it once was, writing this blog post, I realise it is still a daily challenge for me. Often, I have to slow down before I can even think about speeding up again. It’s about taking stock, organizing my workspace, house chores best I can, rest day afterward admiring a job well done and clearing my mental and physical space to make it functional for when inspiration strikes. And with the arrival of Autumn, that pace feels even slower; Ralph’s daily walks have become our little ritual, allowing me to pace myself while soaking up the change in seasons. Autumn and the clocks going back means we have to have the second walk at 4, today however with this mornings walk becoming a long 2 hours, we will just opt for the grass round the back for a wee, and hope can hold until morning, as once dark the urban fox is about and it’s impossible for him to concentrate.
I’ve learned to accept my limits and respect the fact that I can’t accomplish as much in a day as I’d like. I am not able to do the daily grind or treat it like a work day beginning at say 9, admin for hour, paint for 3 hours, lunch, paint for another 3, admin or photograph artwork , diner, housework, gym, bed and repeat, I just would burn out within the week or most likely in a few days. It’s about recalibrating expectations, not going by the hour, the per hour productivity and understanding that my journey doesn’t follow the same rhythm as everyone else’s. When I feel stuck with my art, I often turn to other tasks, like editing a video or writing a blog post, to stay productive without burning myself out. Today, for example, I plan to edit a long-overdue YouTube video I have been putting off (and feeling guilty about) and relax with a bit of gaming to recharge my creativity with that dopamine hit (all the while;e trying not to have all the things I should be doing going round my head).
Redefining Success on My Own Terms
Art has been a saving grace for me, but only because I’ve learned to approach it on my own terms. I won’t turn my passion into a hustle, and that’s a boundary I fiercely protect. I admit, I worry about the energy that a full-time art career may demand, knowing I don’t always have the stamina for it. But I also trust that even with my lower energy reserves, I’ll make steady progress over time. The key is not to get caught up in day-to-day fluctuations; it’s the cumulative efforts that count.Which for the most part I do seem to still hit the targets, but it is knowing what to prioritise my energy towards in that moment.
Instead of pushing through exhaustion, I’ve become intentional about resting and seeking out little dopamine hits throughout the day. I always find time for a film most evenings. Having Ralph has been a blessing in disguise—his walks break up my day and give me a reason to step away, and while he loves me and is bound to me, he rarely joins me on the sofa. So when he does join me I relish it. He does however join me often to lie on my feet or lean beside me while painting, it adds a cosy slowing down atmosphere and his life being short, I will soak up every moment he choses to spend with me.
Even when I feel drained. Before Ralph, I would have spent that time stressing about finding the energy to tackle my to-do list. Now, I come back from our walks with a bit more clarity and a fresh perspective, after a rest, and some lunch, usually I am ready to chip away at whatever’s next. I am pushing through to write this before stopping, so I feel I have done something to express myself and keep the website active and interactive.
Finding Rhythm in Seasonality and Space
Being an artist with a chronic condition means working with, not against, the ebb and flow of energy. I find that my creativity fluctuates with the seasons and the sunlight. In summer, I may have more productive stretches and more energy, and using the word energy I don’t always mean tired but it does come with that, it is the motivation within the executive function, hitting a brick wall despite it being something I enjoy. Just that sheer overwhelm or not feeling in the right headspace for it. summer I can begin in the late after noon and painting until early evening, with a walk after some down time. But as the days shorten, I adapt, carving out shorter creative sessions around Ralph’s routine and the changing light, with the second walk approaching far too fast.
I often wonder if a dedicated studio space and more consistent art sales would help me feel more “on top of things.” The momentum and demand driving the need to create, of Course the drive to create is within me without the need for external motivations, I just have a few more plates spinning and wearing more and more hats than I was before. But for now, I work with what I have. My creative process has its own rhythm, and I’m learning to honour that. When I feel inspired, I start painting, giving myself a 15-minute window to see if I’m in the zone. If I’m not feeling it, I don’t force it. Other times I may switch to a biro sketch in my sketchbook as that is what I have capacity for, I may thumbnail ideas for larger more taxing and involved paintings. Those quiet moments where I sit and contemplate a piece, staring at it as it sits on the easel(standing or desk easel), are part of the process too. When it’s finally time to paint, I move with a flow I’ve cultivated through these moments of rest, visualisation and reflection.
I suppose you could say I'm like the hummingbird in the painting Hum your own tune—moving at my own rhythm, though mine is slower and less frantic than those rapid wings. I may not match the speed or productivity of others, but I follow a pace that feels natural to me. This way, I can continue creating art in a way that honours my limits and celebrates my passion. After all, with hundreds of artworks created, I must be doing something right. Still, in a world that measures success by the hour, it’s easy to feel self-conscious.
P.S. There was a time when I couldn’t even walk (aside from downstairs and up stairs once a day to go from bed to lying on sofa), let alone leave the house or stand in front of a canvas, nor paint or watch tv, or anything. I was bed-bound, barely able to sit up, let alone create. So when I think back, I feel so grateful to have reclaimed some of my fitness after finding a good specialist, even with the fatigue that remains. Having these moments where I can get out, walk with Ralph, or get something done feels like such a gift. And yet, oddly, sometimes it’s even harder to accept my limits now than it was back then. When I was housebound, I had no choice but to accept things as they were. Now, with a lot more freedom but some fatigue remaining, it can be frustrating to feel so close to "normal" yet so far and still having to navigate my limits. But that, too, is a part of the journey—learning to honour where I’m at, no matter what that looks like each day.
