The artist in her studio with an unfinished painting on the table next to her

The Beauty of Slowness: Why Art Invites Us to Be Still

What I Was Thinking

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been in a hurry lately.

The kids are arguing. The sink is full. The floor is covered in tiny shoes and someone’s half-eaten snack, and I know the ants outside are ready to pounce. And if I could just catch five minutes—a real five minutes, not a fake scroll-break—maybe I’d feel like a person again.

Our whole world is addicted to urgency.

But I remember slowness.
The real kind. The kind I haven’t seen in 20 years or more.

Afternoons in the library, flipping through card catalogs.
Walking barefoot to the pool in the heat of summer.
Lying down in a field and watching the sky move over wildflowers.
Listening to thunder roll in through the window.
Noticing your own lungs, just breathing.

We used to know how to be still.


Why It Matters

Slowness doesn’t come naturally anymore.

Even our rest is scheduled now—exercise class, screen breaks, phone notifications to remind us to drink water or take a deep breath. And when you finally do sit down, your phone’s already five scrolls ahead.

But art doesn’t work like that.

You can’t rush a painting.
You can’t multitask a sunset.
You can’t fast-forward through something made with care and expect it to land the same.

Art invites you to stop.
To pause.
To look at something real. To feel something true.

Not to fix it all.
Not to lecture.
Just to say:
There’s something beautiful here. You can stay awhile.

Maybe that’s the real power of beauty.
It slows us down long enough to notice what we’ve been running from.
To remember that hope is still real, and you don’t have to be everything today.

You just have to be.

 

A painting in process from Tara Shoemaker Art with light swirls of color on a paper next to a paint palette and a water container


From the Studio

I’ve been thinking about how to move slower in my own work. How to paint and share from a place that doesn’t feel frantic or forced.

So I’m leaning into painting again. Watching color spread across a page. Cutting my screen time. Saying yes to more time outside. More swims. More meals on the deck. More beauty, less pressure.

Is it perfect? Not even close. But it’s good. And good is enough right now.

 

If This Hits Home

If you’ve been craving more peace, more pause, this is your invitation.

My art is here to help you remember what it’s like to be human.

And sometimes, one piece in your space can help you breathe a little deeper.
Remember what’s still true.

If something here makes you pause, don’t rush past it.

That’s your starting point. Slow down. Live with it. Just be.


Tell Me

What helps you slow down these days?

Is there something in your home—or in your heart—that invites you to stay a little longer?

I’d love to hear.

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