The Changes We Don't See Coming

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." — Marcel Proust

When I started Older Artists, I thought I was starting a new blog. Looking back, I realize I was beginning to think in a new way about my life.

At first, I was simply trying to solve a practical problem. Income from my books and courses had declined, and I could no longer justify the expense and complexity of all my old publishing tools. I needed a simpler way to keep writing and helping artists. And earn some income, even if not on the same scale as before.

I was also tired.

Tired of the marketing machinery: lead magnets, funnels, automation, and everything that seemed necessary to keep a modern publishing business moving. Judging by the response I was getting from readers, I wasn’t the only one. They seemed just as weary of being marketed to as I was of doing the marketing.

So I simplified.

I started a new blog for artists my age on a platform that asked less of me and cost a lot less to maintain.

Then something unexpected happened.

Over time, I realized I was doing far more than learning a new platform. I was changing how I approached my work, my creativity, and this stage of life. Instead of asking how to do more, I started asking what actually deserved my attention.

Instead of trying to optimize everything, I focused on what mattered most. The writing, the homepage, my relationship with readers, and even paid subscriptions all became simpler.

Without planning it, I created more than a publication. I created a framework for how I wanted to live and use my creativity. That was a welcome surprise.

I don’t know where Older Artists will lead. Maybe it will grow beyond my hopes. Maybe it won’t. That’s no longer what occupies my thoughts.

I write for the same reason you make your art. The work itself has become part of the reward.

Publishing every Wednesday feels right. After forty years of writing on deadlines, the rhythm is simply part of my DNA.

These days, I wake up looking forward to becoming a better writer and a better companion to others walking a similar path. One thoughtful essay each Wednesday, narrated if you’d rather listen, and brief enough to fit comfortably into your life. I trust that rhythm. It feels like a meaningful way to spend the years I have left.

I think many older artists discover something new in their practice. Think of Hockney creating on an iPad. Life changes our perspective whether we invite it or not—our energy changes. Our priorities change. Sometimes our finances change. Much of that is beyond our control.

What we can choose is how we respond. When I stopped resisting those changes, embraced them, and allowed both my life and myself to become something different, the results were life-altering in ways as unexpected as they were welcome.

We can spend our later years trying to recreate the life we once had, or we can become curious about the life that’s here for us now.

For me, that’s been the unanticipated gift of Older Artists.

I thought I was creating a publication. Instead, it helped me create a framework for the life I want to live.

I’m grateful for that every Wednesday. It reminds me that some of life’s biggest changes don’t come from choosing a new path. Sometimes they come from choosing a different lens.

See you next week.

— Barney