I’m a strange beast in that I hate deadlines but I also need them. I hate being constrained, but I work best when I have a clear goal. I love to explore, but get twitchy when I don’t know where I’m going. I love to start things but sometimes, just sometimes, I can’t.

So I find myself in a perfect storm, right now, of having just finished a fairly well defined commission, delivered against (an admittedly self-imposed) deadline, with the creative universe sprawling before me, and needing to blast off. Although I’m not completely incapable of ignition, it seems that no matter how many countdowns I do, I can only really muster a lukewarm puff of brown fumes.

Maybe this is what wordsmiths call writer’s block. That infuriating and irrational state of being unable to do the one thing that you’re supposed to do, supposed to be good at.

But here’s the thing, I’m not blocked. At least I don’t think so anyway. Maybe that’s still to come. What I do feel is perhaps better described as creative fatigue. I’ve poured so much of my creative energy into one project, a good 6 week’s of mostly myopic focus, which has left me a somewhat creatively depleted. This is closely related to a secondary issue – tunnel vision. Although my latest commission was, in my view at least, an eclectic creative odyssey, dragging in styles and influences from across my artistic spectrum, it was monotropically pointed to a single theme and fashion.

I’m itching to do something that feels distinct, that takes me on a different journey. I want my intense creative sojourn to stay exactly that, a wonderful planet I explored on my ongoing expedition to where no one has gone before. Now I want to power into the void and find more exotic wonders.

But to where? I have no idea. And guess what? I DON’T CARE. You see, I’m not really bothered about being a bit stuck and lost. I don’t find it frustrating that the few scraps of work that I’ve managed in the last week are technically uninspired and creatively lacklustre.

In the past, fugues like these filled me with fidgety, irritable dread. I found myself confused and confounded and enraged, not comprehending why my brain would impose such a pointless, obstinate state. But this time I recognise what’s going on – I’m not “stuck” or “blocked”, I’m just recuperating, replenishing. I also understand these days, that the production of artworks is not the entirety of the creative process, it’s just a part of it. Each individual work does not stand alone, it is part of a journey. Even the most exciting trips involve sitting in airports eating bad sandwiches, in immigration queues, tourist traps. But there’s always that sense of excitement and expectation. Even on the journey home, I feel joy of anticipation at getting back to my comfy bubble. And I’m always cooking up my next escape, even if I can’t decide which of my lengthy bucket list I’ll tick off next.

So I’m not worried. I may not know where I’m going, but I know I’m going somewhere. And the places I go are always fun, or at the very least, if I end up in the creative equivalent of Milton Keynes, I will start a party when I get there. Anyone got a map?