The Art Table

Every holiday season, I become a little obsessed.

For weeks, sometimes months, I search for the perfect family project. I collect ideas, gather supplies, and imagine what we might create together. Then comes the harder part: convincing everyone to sit down around the table and actually do it.

There is eye-rolling.

Someone inevitably whines, "Do we have to?"

Someone else disappears just as we're about to begin.

And somehow, once we finally begin, everyone is laughing.

By the end of the afternoon, glitter covers the floor, discarded ribbons dangle from the chandelier, and the table looks like an explosion in Santa’s workshop. Year after year, those hours spent creating together become some of our favorite family memories, the ones we reminisce about when we are together.

The finished projects fill boxes and shelves throughout our home. Handmade ornaments. Painted decorations. Holiday keepsakes.

But as I was thinking about this recently, I realized something surprising.

Why do I only make space for creativity during the holidays?

Why is it so easy to devote an entire weekend to creating with family around one of the Holidays, but so difficult to gather people around a table to create on an ordinary day?

And perhaps more importantly, why do so many of us stop creating altogether as we grow older?

For years, the answer seemed obvious. Life gets busy. Work demands attention. Children need rides. Homes need maintenance. And responsibilities seem to crowd out creativity.

But now my daughter and my nieces and nephews are grown.

The stage of life that once felt so busy and full has become quieter.

And I find myself asking a different question.

Now that I no longer have young children around the table, will I stop creating art altogether?

I hope not.

In fact, I am beginning to believe that creativity was never really the point.

Community was.

The crafts were simply an excuse to gather.

The ornaments were evidence of our sweet time spent together.

The painted wood, ribbons, glue, and glitter were simply tools that helped us do something humans have always needed to do: create alongside one another.

As part of my work, I spend time visiting senior living communities throughout Santa Cruz and Santa Clara Counties. Whenever I tour a community, I find myself peeking into the activity rooms.

The art rooms are often my favorite spaces.

Paintings line the walls.

Clay creations dry on countertops.

Knitting projects spill from baskets.

Someone is teaching watercolor.

Someone else is helping a friend finish a project she started the week before.

The rooms feel alive.

And what strikes me most is that the artwork itself is almost beside the point.

What matters is that people are creating together.

They are sharing ideas.

Laughing over mistakes.

Encouraging one another.

Showing up.

Again and again.

When many people imagine senior living, they picture a loss.

A smaller home.

Less independence.

A chapter ending.

What they often fail to imagine is what may be gained.

Friendship.

Connection.

Shared experiences.

A reason to leave your apartment and join others.

A table waiting for you.

I think many of us underestimate the quiet cost of isolation.

We tell ourselves that staying home sounds comfortable.

We enjoy our routines.

We appreciate our privacy.

And there is certainly nothing wrong with solitude.

But there is a difference between solitude and isolation.

One is chosen.

The other slowly chooses us.

The truth is that most of life's meaningful moments happen in the presence of other people.

Not necessarily at grand events.

Not during major milestones.

But during ordinary afternoons spent doing something simple together.

Sharing a meal. Playing cards. Taking a walk. Painting a watercolor.

Making a holiday ornament.

Creating something that did not exist before.

Perhaps that is why the art rooms in senior communities move me so much.

They remind me that creativity does not belong to children.

It does not belong to professional artists.

It does not belong to any particular season of life.

It belongs to all of us.

And maybe the challenge for those of us in midlife is not simply to preserve our creativity, but to create new circles in which it can thrive.

Perhaps instead of waiting for the holidays, I should invite a few friends over on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.

Perhaps we should gather around a table, make something beautiful, and enjoy the company.

Because the older I get, the more I believe that art is rarely about what hangs on the wall.

It is about what happens around the table.

And there are still many beautiful tables ahead.

About the Author

Heather Lewis Sebring is the founder of Heart Centered Transitions, a Santa Cruz County-based company that helps seniors and their families navigate downsizing, relocation, and major life transitions with compassion and practical support.