The Art of Tranquility: Finding Awareness Through Creation

Pen and ink contemporary fine art by Doug Ashby

Tranquil: free from disturbance; calm.

A few years ago, I often said to my wife, “It’s the noise.” I meant this quite literally—physical noise. I am a middle school art teacher, and in late 2024, there is a significant amount of din. At that point, I was vocally advocating for a career change, though without taking any real steps to make it happen. After twenty years of teaching, I was craving change, though I wasn’t sure how to find it. What I did know was that whatever came next, I wanted it to be a quieter, more tranquil experience.

Around that time, I began to believe that much of the artwork I was creating was an unconscious expression of this desire. The artwork above is another reflection of my longing for a quieter existence. When I am creating, I often feel the inner calm I seek. In the context of everyday life, however, that calm is precious but fleeting. It feels as though I am creating an almost surreal future landscape for myself—one I desperately want to escape to, or at least have adjacent to the busyness of the grounded, practical life I lead. I imagine I am not alone in this feeling. Our world has become an increasingly noisy place, and without stepping back to gain perspective, it can become overwhelmingly oppressive.

The artwork above is the first in a series of surreal dreamscapes where I experiment with a panoramic format. Traditionally, I don’t lean toward elongated compositions, preferring a more vertical orientation. For the first time, I also wanted to explore the concept of reflection. I aimed to subtly suggest the duality between a desire to escape and the reality that escape is not always possible. That reflection often stares back at me from the mirror in my mind. I sometimes wish so desperately to be in a different place, but when I ask myself why, I can’t come up with any truly compelling reasons. It’s simply that I want a more tranquil existence. Yet, I am beginning to realize that tranquility is not something the external world can offer. True tranquility must come from within, from the internal reflection that exists alongside the constant clamor of daily life. The real escape isn’t to be found in any physical space.

So, how should we understand the noise in the world—the constant hum that I feel the need to escape? I could write at length about social media, the 24-hour news cycle, and the echo chambers they create, but that’s been done before. I already understand those trappings. One of my main concerns as an aspiring career artist is the idea that, to be successful in today’s world, one must engage on social media. Honestly, I feel there’s little real return on investment in that. As a result, I fluctuate between mild engagement and no engagement at all. The noise in my life doesn’t come from there; it comes from within. Lately, I’ve started to think that much of the noise I experience is self-generated.

I don’t often struggle with intense anxiety or overstimulation. I’m not prone to hypomanic or manic episodes. However, imposter syndrome—what we used to call “feelings of inadequacy”—rears its head in devilish ways, and I’m not immune to some of the unhealthy ways of coping with it. I’m not someone who believes a Nirvana-like existence is attainable. I think a pragmatic outlook on life is healthy. Still, it’s incredibly difficult to turn off that inner voice sometimes. Yes, there’s plenty of external noise in my life—after all, I’m a middle school teacher who comes home every day to a middle school student—but from there, the internal dialogue begins.

Lately, I’ve been working, as best I can, to “transcend the ego.” My cousin, an exceptionally gifted musician in Los Angeles, shares this journey in his way. Talent, though, is only part of the equation. There’s also the element of luck. Fortuna plays her role. Both of us want the same thing: to be relevant in our creative fields. He wants to be part of a band that matters, while I want to be an artist whose work stands the test of time and becomes consequential. That’s where much of my internal noise comes from. When things go well, like getting accepted into juried shows, my inner voice is optimistic, assuring me that I could one day make art full-time. But setbacks inevitably come, and then the voice darkens. Recently, as part of this effort to transcend the ego, I’ve started questioning my desire to be an “artist of consequence.” Perhaps being a working artist is enough to achieve the tranquility I crave.

The moments I feel most grounded and connected are those when I’m creating. To be honest, that feeling is strongest when I believe the work has the potential to be significant, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter what I’m creating. The process itself brings me joy. In those moments, I know I’m at my best. A few years ago, I took extended leave from work to care for my family as my father entered the final stages of his life. During that time, I had more space for my art, and I got a taste of the life I deeply want to return to. Despite the difficulty of losing my father, I was at greater peace, which I attribute to having more time for art. Since returning to work, the internal noise has increased dramatically. Is it because work has cut into my creative time? Almost certainly. I also believe it’s because teaching, as a profession, has run its course for me after twenty-four years. Regardless, the noise—both internal and external—has grown louder.

So, what now? I believe I need to embark on a journey of deeper self-awareness. I need to understand my internal triggers more intimately and explore whether my artwork is revealing something on an unconscious level. I don’t believe all the internal noise is purely a reaction to the external noise, though it’s undoubtedly a significant trigger. But what, deep down, is being triggered? Earlier today, I listened to a podcast featuring Alain de Botton, a British public intellectual. The basic premise was that while life is difficult, an examined life is worthwhile. Therapy, like life, is a journey, and it doesn’t have to be formal. A journey of self-exploration could be as simple as following Socrates’ advice. The challenge, of course, is time. Nevertheless, I feel a deeper self-awareness is the path I need to pursue. I believe that by examining my triggers, I’ll discover the causes of the noise and the way forward—and my art must be part of that process because I think it’s revealing more than meets the eye.

So, is tranquility truly what I’m searching for? I know it’s a state I desire more often, but is that really my ultimate goal? I know that creating art brings me a greater sense of calm. I know I’m at my best when I’m making something. However, I’m also pragmatic enough to realize that a career as an artist won’t be one of constant bliss. That’s not a version of reality I can believe in. At the end of this first essay, I’d like to challenge you—the reader, the art lover—to ask yourself: when are you at peace? What are you doing? And if you can pinpoint those moments, how can you make more space for them in your life?

As always, I hope you enjoy the art and the thoughts. I’ll be back next week with the second artwork and the second part of this essay. If you have any thoughts or would like to engage, please leave a comment. I promise I’ll respond.

Thanks,

Doug