Artist Dates
Why getting out of your routine might be the most creative thing you do this week
(Reading Room, McKim Building, Copley Square, Boston Public Library, Boston, MA)
Last week, I had a chance to get out of Dodge for 36 hours.
Three of my sober girlfriends and I left Rhode Island and drove up to Boston, where we split the cost of a two-bedroom suite in a trendy boutique hotel on Charles Street. The plan was simple: attend a few meetings, do some shopping and sightseeing, enjoy a few meals out, and head home Friday afternoon.
We did all of that, and more.
I returned home invigorated, refreshed, and inspired to get back into my studio.
At one point during a long walk down Charles Street, one of my friends turned to me and said, smiling,
“You remind me of a baby bird. Your head is constantly turning, taking everything in.”
In that moment, I realized I hadn’t felt that level of curiosity and immersion in a long time.
Let me explain.
When I graduated from massage school in 2011, I opened a small private practice. From my split-level studio in a coastal Rhode Island town, I offered Swedish massage, energy work, workshops, and even carved out space for a small art gallery.
In October 2020, with COVID reshaping everything, and with the help of a state grant, I pivoted. I closed my physical practice and moved my work online. After nine years as a therapist, I chose not to renew my massage license.
From 2020 to 2024, Zoom became my gathering place. It satisfied my deep desire for community, and I loved offering online courses and workshops to women across the country.
One of my favorite offerings was facilitating Julia Cameron’s 12-week program, The Artist’s Way.
Alongside morning pages and weekly readings, Cameron introduces a powerful concept: the artist date.
A weekly, solo excursion designed to spark curiosity and refill the creative well.
I took them faithfully for a time.
But somewhere along the way, I stopped.
Yes, I signed a one-year lease on a studio. Yes, I’ve been showing up consistently. But this realization felt different.
The Boston trip reminded me: being in the studio is not the same as being filled.
What I brought home from those 36 hours was a recommitment:
Weekly Friday artist dates. Solo.
They don’t have to be elaborate or expensive.
They can look like:
wandering through a museum
sitting in a park
browsing a fabric or art supply store
exploring a small shop
stepping into a quiet church
The point isn’t productivity.
The point is attention.
Artist dates open the channel. They refill the well that slowly drains when we move through our days without noticing.
So here’s my invitation to you:
Pull out your calendar.
Schedule an artist date.
Give yourself an hour. Maybe two.
Step outside your routine and let the world meet you—
the colors, the sounds, the textures, the movement, the unexpected.
Let yourself look around like a baby bird again.
Then come back and tell me what you noticed.
(If my words spoke to you today and you’d like to support my work in a small way, you can leave a token of appreciation below. No obligation, just gratitude.)