The Studio Went Quiet

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from a day job that swings between crushing responsibility and absolute silence almost overnight.

For months, things had been accumulating. Workload. Stress. Difficult situations. Endless mental tabs left open in the background. By the end of a particularly intense stretch at work, I genuinely couldn’t see my way out of the woods, and somewhere in the middle of all of that, I started quietly wondering whether the 100 Quilt Project was actually realistic.

Stretch goals are good. They should feel ambitious. But they also have to be achievable with stretch. For a while, I wasn’t sure I could stretch that much anymore (which is slightly ironic considering what happened to my back recently).

I had just finished a quilt that won’t be released for quite some time yet and completed all the digital assets that go with it. The pattern was done. The files were done. The release materials were done. And then, for the first time in I don’t know how long, the studio went quiet.

No next project.
No sketch.
No plan.
No stack of fabric waiting on the table.

Usually, I’m working several quilts ahead, mentally hopping between future releases and half-formed concepts. The absence of a “next” project didn’t feel restful. It felt alarming. Like the whole machine was about to start grinding. I also didn’t have the bandwidth to fix it. I didn’t have the energy to sit and sketch or force ideas into existence. Even the thought of trying felt exhausting.

But somewhere underneath the discomfort, I also knew this was probably part of the process.

Long-term creative work is not just about momentum. It’s about learning how to tolerate the quiet parts without panicking and setting the whole thing on fire.

So I let the studio go still. I let there be no next step. And I let the fermentation happen, even though I didn’t fully realize that was what was happening at the time.

Fermentation feels like the right word for it. It’s invisible while it’s happening. Nothing appears to be moving. But somewhere in the background, things are changing shape.

I don’t enjoy this stage, for the record. I would strongly prefer to have a project, a plan, a spreadsheet, and several labeled piles of fabric at all times. But grudgingly, unwillingly, I let the stillness exist for a few days.

And then the day job finally switched off.

Not reduced.
Not lighter.
Off.

The sudden absence of pressure was almost disorienting. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I could hear my own thoughts again.

So I deliberately sat down at my sketching table with graph paper and colored pencils. And it came back. The ideas came back.

Not all at once in some dramatic lightning bolt moment, but quickly enough that it startled me. I stood staring at my greatly reduced fabric resource center (more on that in another post) and pulled out an orphan stack of reds. Not enough for an entire quilt, but enough for something scrappy and energetic.

More sketching happened. More ideas arrived. A few lines. Some coloring in. And suddenly there it was: a new design.

You won’t see this quilt for quite some time because I’m still absurdly ahead in the release schedule, which is honestly a good problem to have. But I’m ridiculously excited about it already.

The reds felt electric. Stormy and loud in exactly the right way.

I held them against my usual navy background and immediately knew it wasn’t right. Too safe. Too expected. These reds wanted black.

So naturally, I ordered a large amount of Kona Pepper with the full confidence of someone who thought, “I’ve done this enough times now, I can estimate fabric requirements without calculating first.”

Reader, I could not.

After actually doing the math, I discovered I was catastrophically short on yardage. This is one of those fabric lessons that is both valuable and deeply annoying because dye lots are real and overconfidence is apparently still alive and well in my studio.

The problem was that I had already placed my original order from my favorite Etsy vendor, and they ship so fast that by the time I sat down and did the calculations properly, the fabric was already cut and heading out the door. There was no time to amend the order.

So I messaged them to ask whether, if I immediately placed a second order, they could cut it from the same bolt.

Instant reply: yes.

So I enthusiastically placed another order for significantly more Kona Pepper than originally intended.

That second order was cut and shipped just as quickly as the first one, and somewhere out there are now multiple packages of Kona Pepper making their way toward my house.

Honestly, this is an excellent problem to have with a fabric vendor.

And if I’m being truthful, there was a huge sense of relief in that moment. The work wasn’t gone. The ideas weren’t gone. They were just waiting for enough quiet to return.