Two Weeks Alone on Gabriola Island

Sometimes you've just got to get away, isolate yourself on a tiny island, and paint.

We hear about the greats doing this. Georgia O'Keeffe escaping to a ranch in New Mexico. Thoreau retreating to a tiny cabin by Walden Pond in 1845. The idea of taking yourself out of society to create isn't new. Though in our modern world, it seems to have become harder and harder to do.

"Unlimited PTO" is becoming something we hear regularly as an incentive to work for a company. But here's the thing… who really has the time or freedom in their workload to take more than 10 days off a year?

We're the overworked generation, struggling to make time for ourselves while often being criticized for how we spend our free time and money.

Your mountain bike cost how much?

You're going away again? You just took a vacation.

How do you have time to train for a marathon?

So we compromise. We work remotely for a week or two each year, trying to maximize our time away from the office while balancing PTO and remote work days. We travel somewhere tropical, convincing ourselves we'll really enjoy the trip even though we'll be working half the time.

Logging on between surf classes with the handsome instructor with abs and long hair. Hopping into a quick meeting before heading out for the evening.

In this scenario, we're always half in, half out. Never fully switching off work brain.

When was the last time you fully disconnected? Actually switched off and focused, uninterrupted, on the thing you love most? Maybe it's a sport. Maybe it's a creative project.

For me, it's painting.

I've painted since childhood. Always animals, occasionally dabbling with portraits. But about ten years ago I stopped. Life got too busy and work took over. Now I realize that was burnout. I lost all of my creative drive. My biggest passion in life just sort of fizzled away.

To the point that my closest friends were shocked when I picked it back up again this year. They had no idea I was a painter. They hadn't known the younger version of me who painted non-stop.

I've always been a bit spontaneous. I don't do things slowly or gradually. I make a sudden decision and stick with it, which may or may not be a good thing depending on the scenario.

So, without much thought and kind of out of nowhere, I decided: fuck it, I'm going to a cabin alone for two weeks to paint.

The location: Gabriola Island, one of Canada's Gulf Islands, just off the much larger Vancouver Island. Getting there from Vancouver takes two ferry rides and about half a day of travel (unless you fly).

It's a small community spread across 57.6 square kilometres, home to lots of free spirits and known as the "Isle of the Arts" for having one of the highest concentrations of artists per capita in Canada.

Each morning, I took my coffee down to the water. My Airbnb had its own private access, and I'd sit there watching the birds and sea lions beginning their days too.

In the afternoons, I journaled, took some very cold ocean dips, birdwatched, and explored the island.

Most importantly, in the evenings, I painted.

I worked on two projects while there: an acrylic canvas based on a table-setting photograph I took in Paris earlier in the year, and my ongoing watercolour series of the wildlife I see in my travels. My nature journal.

Isolating wasn't nearly as lonely as I thought it would be. It actually felt like my soul had been craving it after so much stimulation in my day-to-day life.

Also, I brought my cats. My two little companions, who I spoke to more than any person during those weeks in the woods.

I reflected. I sat alone with myself. I reconnected to my childhood passion.

I watched wildlife. I watched the ocean.

I watched my energy begin to come back to me.