What I Learned from Staring at a Blank Page for 3 Hours -The Artist’s Notebook #1

Hello besties!!!

This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about doing art… and not doing art.

This summer, thanks to Whitespace Gallery — and especially Susan, who is truly the sweetest, kindest person in the whole universe — I had the chance to meet so many artists and creative souls. I’ve been taking notes along the way. Sometimes it’s just a single word scribbled down before I rush back to whatever I was doing.

Now, I want to share those notes with you here, in The Artist’s Notebook, starting with what I’ve learned so far as a brand-new artist in this world. This space will be my way of looking at myself from the outside — and maybe you’ll see a bit of yourself here, too.

I always feel guilty — or just bad — when I sit down in my chair, gather my materials, and… nothing happens. I’ve switched papers, paper sizes, materials, even rooms, but nothing changes the fact that sometimes I just can’t start. Even scribbling doesn’t work, and that hurts my feelings more than I’d like to admit.

But recently, I learned something that surprised me: staring at a blank page is actually a big thing. It’s not failure. It’s not laziness. It’s the uncomfortable but important space where your brain is quietly doing the work your hands haven’t caught up with yet.

So now, instead of punishing myself for the hours that pass without a single line, I try to see them as part of the process. Not every day is a day for making. Some days are just for looking. And maybe, in their own quiet way, those days are building something I can’t see yet. If I learned something, staring at a blank page for 3 hours is simply making space for the art to arrive. Lol, do not laugh, I am serious. It happens to me a lot, and I learned that it also happens to more experienced artists, too. It is a part of being an artist.

When I’m in the studio, I forget about time and place. Once I focus on what I’m doing, it takes hold of me — like sleeping with my eyes open. The noise in my head fades, my body relaxes, and I’m left with the quiet satisfaction of making something I truly like. That feeling feeds me long after I leave the studio. It seeps into my daily routines and makes them lighter.

Sometimes, it’s more than satisfaction — it feels like doing my job, my responsibility, and my hobby all at once. For me, doing art is like writing a novel. I’m a book lover, and every time I read, I’m fascinated by how an author can weave a storyline so smoothly, detail after detail, until nothing feels out of place. By the final page, I know exactly what they wanted to say.

Art is just like that. It’s our way of saying something — sometimes deeply personal, sometimes political. Sometimes it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. And that’s the beauty of it. As I mentioned in my last entry, art is the magic of not explaining everything.

The Artist’s Notebook #1 emphasizes patience, which is not easy to achieve.

Dear Seyma, do not rush. Everything is going to be okay. One more thing, Brooke Cormier has the best vlogs about what we just talked about.

Lately, I’ve been diving into two very different books — The Bright Years by Sarah Damoof and Broken Country by Clare Leslie Hall. One is a quiet, reflective exploration of life’s turning points, and the other pulls me into a raw, layered story that makes me stop and think. I like switching between them depending on my mood — sometimes I need the gentleness, sometimes I need the intensity. Together, they remind me that the stories we consume shape the way we see the world, even in the smallest details. But anyway, I’ll share my detailed thoughts about the books next week. You know it is so important for me to feel intensity or drama lol. Stay tuned. I will be back.

I have finished The Bright Years by Sarah Damoof. What I like most about this book is that it doesn’t get boring because the generational and life events happen in order. The author lets you know the important points, and you are not dragged through unnecessary details. And I love how it ended up touching my heart. Now I have started The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides. I am ready for the spooky season, and this one fits the bill perfectly.

If you’re still here, thank you for being my interest-or-curiosity bestie. I like to think of this space as a corner table where we meet every week, share what’s been on our minds, and leave with something to think about. Until next time, keep noticing the little things that make life feel like art. And please, if you ever want to ask, talk, or just say hi, reach me through the contact section — I would be so happy to hear from you.