How Walking Helps Me Reset My Creative Mind

Finding Beauty in the Everyday

 

Here are beauty that I met on my walk 

 

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A quiet morning in the old market

On a bright morning, I went to the market with my family, heading toward the old market hall, where the stalls always feel familiar. 

Fresh fruit, warm bread, jars of sweets, stacks of old vinyl records, trays of eggs, the sharp, clean scent of fish—all arranged with the quiet pride of people who know their craft. 

 

  

 

That’s where I buy the ingredients for my creations, and that’s where I bring my worn-out shoes so those same patient hands can bring them back to life.

These beetroots above I crafted from felt, stitched onto canvas, mounted in a bamboo frame, that I bought at the market. 

 

I like to chat with the traders, share a laugh, ask about their week. If they don’t have what I’m looking for, they simply nod toward a neighbour who might have it. There’s a gentle sincerity to it, the kind that makes the place feel human.

 

As we walked through the hall, the noise softened into a warm hum—of footsteps, voices, the gentle rustle of bags. The building seemed to hold it all, as if it remembered every ordinary day that had passed through its doors.

 

By late afternoon, the light had turned as soft as honey, and the market began to quiet down. Stalls were being packed up, goodbyes were said without haste, and people slowly made their way home with bags and a little more peace of mind than when they arrived.

 

Maybe that’s exactly why I keep coming back here. In this fast-paced world, this old hall reminds me that when we take care of our things—and of one another—life becomes gentler.

 

If you’d like another small, quiet corner to rest your eyes, here’s an earlier piece: All About Making at Art in Cupboard. 

 

A walk in the park, a meeting with geese, and more blooming flowers

On my walk, I spotted a charming little family of geese with their fluffy goslings. The parents were making comically dramatic noises, swishing their broad wings as if to say, “Shoo, shoo, be nice or go away,” while letting out sharp, almost theatrical hissing sounds to keep us and other curious passersby from getting too close.

 

 

Geese with their fluffy goslings - © Aga

 

 

Even a dog and its owner had to scurry away rather quickly, because the geese’s hissing sounded surprisingly intense and menacing.

 

Parents observing around  with little goslings -  © Aga

 

 

But along the way, we could see clusters of wild garlic and delicate wild bluebells. The scent of the flowers was absolutely incredible—fresh, sweet, and quietly enchanting.

 

 

Wild garlic and blue bell flowers

 

It reminded me how even the smallest encounters can turn an ordinary walk into something unexpectedly memorable, much like my earlier meeting with a robin in the woods.

 

The Art of Kettle: A Small Moment in the Museum of Randomness

 Museum of Randomness

The Museum of Randomness is simply a place where I share small glimpses of the paper artworks I’m creating for my growing gallery, Art in Cupboard. These pieces sit quietly on shelve in sketchbook, and every so often one of them asks to be written about. This space is where those little stories land — a place to wander through miniature scenes whenever you feel like pausing for a moment.

Art in Cupboard is my collection of paper‑based artwork. It’s a gallery you can visit when you don’t have time for a real one, or when the nearest exhibition feels too far away. Here, you’ll find small works made from simple materials: ballpoint pens, ink, scraps of old newspapers and magazines, and whatever else happens to be within reach.

The Art of Kettle

One of the pieces in this collection is called The Art of Kettle. It’s a tiny collage built from everyday materials, but it carries a quiet story.

 

 

At the centre is a kettle drawn with a ballpoint pen — an ordinary object turned into a small symbol of comfort. Rising from it is the steam, but not the kind you’d expect. The fog is made from cut‑up pieces of old barcodes, reshaped into soft drifting forms. These once‑functional scraps now float like delicate vapour, giving the artwork a sense of movement and warmth.

Under the kettle sits a small cut‑out sign with the word ART in bold red letters. It’s a tiny reminder that creativity doesn’t need a grand stage.

This piece asks for a slow look. What do you notice first — the kettle, the barcode steam, or the red word ART. Does the transformation of something as mundane as a barcode make you think differently about the objects around you. Can you imagine the warmth of the kettle, the soft hiss of boiling water, the pause before the first sip.

Sometimes the smallest artwork invites the longest moment of reflection.

Tea, Rituals, and the Kitchen

Tea time has always been a moment of quiet ritual for me. There’s something soothing about filling the kettle, listening to the water bubble and hiss, and finally pouring it over the tea leaves. The sound alone feels like a tiny meditation.

My kitchen — where this ritual unfolds — is also the heart of my creative work. It’s where I sketch, cut, glue, experiment, and pause for a warm cup between tasks. It’s a place where making art and finding rest blend together naturally.

If you’d like a glimpse of how this space shapes my making, you can read my earlier post here Behind the Scenes.

Sometimes the smallest artwork asks the biggest questions, simply by giving us a reason to stop and look a little longer. Sometimes creativity begins in the simplest places.