Like Water in the Heat: Creativity in a Slower Season
Here we are in mid-July, and just like clockwork, life feels busier than ever. It feels this way every year around this time, but the truth is work has indeed picked up and schedules have shifted. We’re also juggling commitments to family, our dogs (ages 15 years and 8 months), and trying to find a modicum of energy to be social. All of this is technically within my control, I realize, but it often feels like these facets of life gang up and drain the creativity right out of me.
Motivation to head outside with my camera, sweat all over it, smear it with sunscreen and bug spray, jump at every buzzing hornet, and curse every spider web I walk into? It’s low - very low.
Just a few months ago in the fall, things were different. I was out often with my backpack, stove, and camera. I felt inspired. I was more likely to be still and create something - like a photograph I could be proud of, or just some simple ideas in my small notebook. But the heat, humidity, and summertime insect life of the Southeastern U.S. are reliable creativity-killers for me. They make it hard to get into that open, generative mindset I’ve worked to cultivate over the years.
I also sometimes catch myself feeling guilty about letting my camera sit idle. It was a big investment, and I was raised to believe that hard work is essential to a fulfilling life — a belief I still hold, at least to some degree. But what I often forget during these long, hot summers is that creativity needs rest. It’s not an endless resource. It functions more like a muscle by growing stronger through a healthy balance of effort and recovery.
This is clear to me as I sit typing — and yet it’s easy to get discouraged when the time between meaningful images stretches from days to weeks, or even longer. It’s taken practice, and loads of patience with myself, but I’ve gotten better at quieting that nagging feeling that I should always be doing more. The truth is, the camera is just a tool. If I don’t have a compelling reason to pick it up right now, that’s okay.
So, while summer always seems to slow me down when it comes to photography, I’ve come to see that as something natural — even necessary. In temperate climates, many species of trees grow the most in summer thanks to longer daylight hours. Crop fields require fallow periods to rest and recharge with vital nutrients - times historically viewed across many farming cultures as crucial phases of intentional “unproductivity.” I think we’re the same. Taking a break doesn’t mean we’re stuck; it just means we’re giving ourselves space to reset.
I’m reminded of a chapter in Guy Tal’s book The Interior Landscape, where he talks about creative blocks. He suggests they’re not problems to fix, but signs that our minds are quietly getting ready for something new. That shift in perspective really stuck with me — the idea that downtime is actually part of the creative process. It helps me remember that productivity and creativity aren’t always the same thing, and sometimes the most important work happens when we’re not actively trying.
**************
Thankfully, I have managed to get out with my camera a couple of times fairly recently — once in early June and once this month — and made some images I feel genuinely good about. Water always draws me in this time of year, and working with light, shadow, texture, and reflection to create abstract images feels both calming and creatively fulfilling. There’s something essential about the way these moments bring together life in a hot climate, the instinct to cool both body and spirit, and the slow but meaningful rhythm of creating something that feels like a breath of calm.
Hunger Strike, June 2025 - Taken at an unnamed creek in Northern Georgia that’s become a meaningful place for me. With my puppy Fern nearby, I felt a quiet appreciation for nature - and a bit of sadness knowing that not everyone gets to connect with it in the same way. Threads of scarcity and longing worked their way into the title and ultimate personal meaning of the image for me.
Rescription, July 2020 - The light was strong this July morning, but a passing cloud gave me just enough shade to make this image. Water shapes stone over time, constantly rewriting the landscape, much like how human stories are layered and reshaped through history.
Feast / Famine, June 2025 - Taken just downstream from the previous photograph, this image reveals a pair of faces I noticed during post-processing - an instance of pareidolia. The stark forms and pale highlights echoed themes of hunger and scarcity that had been on my mind after reading the news.
**************
From a photographic standpoint, that’s really all I have to report for now. I have my sights set on more days on the water this summer with my family and friends, and the odd photograph when the mood happens to strike. If you struggle with the summertime blues like me, I hope you manage to find a way to cool those pesky pressures and feelings of inadequacy. They’ve been a longtime companion of mine, but approaching them with patience and a bit of nature-taught perspective has made them feel a lot more manageable over time.
Be kind to yourself, and take care.
- Kenny
