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“Do your own research,” they say

Do your own research and understand that, when shit hits the fan, we all depend on hospitals, not pranic healers. And this is coming from a person who receives pranic healings herself, so hear me out.

by Ana V. Martins

Unblocking my creative self with The Artist’s Way

“A course in discovering and recovering your creative self?” – it sounded self-helpy. A true artsy soul doesn’t need such a thing, I believed. I was *naturally* creative. In fact, creativity was the one thing I didn’t lack. It was not until I got stranded in confusion and corrosive self-doubt regarding my writing that I remembered the book. What was its name again? Something with “artist” on the title? Presumption had left me; I was in need of help.

by Ana V. Martins

Amsterdam Local Gift Guide Express

Dear reindeers, you don’t want to present your loved ones with offerings from Action or Hema! What you do want is to sniff around these online shops and SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL artists all the way to Christmas and beyond! Honestly, this was the most FUN guide to write EVER. Let’s dive into the good stuff.

by Ana V. Martins

Procrastination is a monster that knows me all too well. Routine, the antidote.

Procrastinating incites terror: that is both its seduction and its biggest trade-off. There was nothing more action propelling for 20-year-old Ana than working against time. And being able to hand in a complete paper to the professor just in time made me feel triumphant. Working against the clock gives me no thrill anymore but but it is good to keep our memory fresh. I’m a procrastinator in recovery, after all.

by Ana V. Martins

On restoring creative fertility

Hustle culture is not a rest-friendly environment so I’ve never been proficient at taking down time. Then my body broke. Is a life without time for a walk in the park, to meet up with a friend, or to simply idle around with your loved ones, a life worth living? One thing I know for sure: idle moments are the most fruitful for creativity.

by Ana V. Martins

Three stories on love, fear, and coming out of the artistic closet

Each morning, I sit at this desk, wanting to write. And invariably, a small terror gets ahold of me. What if it doesn’t work? I prove myself wrong daily, and still, every single time, I sit down with a restless spirit that plots an escape to safer grounds. I often weigh on skipping my commitments, picturing how I’d feel if I didn’t honor them, and the scenario that comes up is horrid. I lived there long enough to know that that is a place I don’t want to revisit. Who sits down with me at the table of creativity? Who hijacks my progress? And what makes stay with it?