Artistic Ramblings - (In)Capable

This is an artistic rambling, a miniseries within my blog that aims to explore a bit of everything. Sometimes it’s in terms of mental health or outside influences – but all of which will typically relate to my experiences, thoughts and inspirations as an artist. Thank you for reading!

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Suddenly, it’s November, and 2026 is right around the corner. I’m not sure where the year has gone, it’s something I can’t fully wrap my head around. It still feels like it was June just a moment ago, and I think the culprit largely behind that is being so sick for a large part of this year.

It’s easy for the world to pass you by when you’re in a state like that, but it’s still jarring when the countdown for the holidays has begun and your own reality is racing to catch up.

I’ve found that this feeling, and 2025 in particular, has left me feeling one thing above all else. It’s left me feeling incapable.

Incapable. It’s a concise word, but it has so much depth to it.

Incapable – but you want to be better.

Incapable – but you’re trying.

Incapable – and it hurts.

This year, I became incapable of doing anything for a six-week period. That meant no markets, no crafting, no writing, no reading, no drawing. Even basic tasks, like sitting up or going for a walk, became impossible beyond a fifteen-minute time limit.

The recovery has been slow, but it’s been happening. I have been creating again, weekly blogs have resumed, and we have been attending markets. But the feeling of being incapable has stuck with me.

The one thing about being disabled or chronically ill is that it could happen to anyone at any time. No one in life is exempt from that possibility. And it’s that reality that has me wanting to write about my recent experiences and how it has impacted my creative life in recent months.

This year, we resumed markets in September, with our very last market before that being the 1st of June, 2025. That is the longest break we have ever had to take due to health reasons.

It felt bizarre to come back after so long. I felt out of place, like it was my first ever market there.

The main reason we chose to come back in September, rather than October as we probably should have, was that it was going to be a less intense month. In September, we had our three regularly scheduled events. In October, we had four, including the roughly twelve-hour long Vine and Dine event and our first Blakes Crossing Twilight Market of the year.

September, we were treating it as a trial run, to iron out the kinks and work out how we could best prepare for huge events and adapt to these new health challenges. I knew that, and despite this, the first weekend that we returned to markets was very challenging.

Day one, the One Tree Hill Country Market, and I couldn’t even get through the set up without bursting into tears. It was that feeling. That feeling of being incapable. And it had me wondering why I was there.

Walking was exhausting, especially up the grassy slope to our normal stall site. I wasn’t allowed to pull the market cart along, so the amount I could contribute to setting up became even less. Setting up the gazebo was a struggle, and it took much longer to put on the gazebo weights and sandbags because each time I stood up, I was sure I was going to pass out. I tried to set up the tables on my own, and I was too weak to do that.

Setting up the table took so long. It was hard to concentrate on anything and I was trapped feeling like I was doing all wrong.

I had to sit down regularly because standing and walking were exhausting. But I still couldn’t sit for too long without the pain climbing higher and higher. I was still relying on pain medication, which came with its own side effects like dizziness. And I now know, I was bordering on being anaemic during this time, which only would have added to the intense struggle.

I was in tears, because the one job I used to be able to do, was now being pulled from my grasp. I was in tears, because I used to be able to do these tasks in my sleep, even when I wasn’t feeling on my game. I was in tears, because I felt so incapable, in a way that had never hit me so hard in all my life.

The first day back was the hardest. I had a lot of self-doubt about whether or not I would be able to continue doing markets, and I found myself wondering if we should just pack it up for the year while I sorted myself out.

I am very thankful for the words of reassurance I received that day, reminding me that I was still sick, still recovering, and that finding my feet again was in no way considered a failure. After that first market, even though I was still sore and tired, it was easier to chip away at the criticisms lurking in my mind.

By some miracle, we got through the month of September. And in that time, I learned some more about what I was still incapable of. We had found ways to cope with markets, but I was struggling greatly when it came to crafting anything that required a moderate amount of concentration.

I did manage to make some one of a kind pumpkin pendants which I am really happy with! It felt great to work with clay again after so long.

It was frustrating. I could knit without looking again; I was back at doing something relatively mindless like that. But the day I wanted to cast on a brand new beanie was a huge struggle.

I couldn’t concentrate to count the correct number of stitches. I had to try three times, and even then, ask another person to count and make sure I had it right. The ribbing was meant to be easy – just knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one. But that quickly turned into a disaster.

Knit one, purl one? Try knit one, purl two, knit five, purl one, knit three… I’ve forgotten what I’m doing, let’s rip it out and start again.

It was black yarn, which made it even harder to work out what I had done. It felt impossible to fix a mistake when my tired brain was struggling to discern the difference between a knit and a purl stitch, let alone just see what I was looking at in dark coloured yarn. It felt like I had to translate each step of the project twice, and it was a degree of concentration I didn’t (and still don’t) have.

Ultimately, after a few attempts, I ended up scrapping the project, to be redone at a later time. And that was certainly an element that fuelled the fires in my mind that have been screaming: you are incapable.

Recovery is hard, and it’s made even harder by your own brain being your worst enemy. It thrives on the days you’re feeling down and takes advantage of your biggest stressors. And for me, that has been my work.

Accessories by Antoinette was already the option I designed for myself, because a typical 9-5 work schedule simply won’t work for me and my health. And to feel that being shaken around and disturbed has been jarring. It’s had me questioning whether I can keep this up, and for how long. It’s had me wondering if I will permanently lose the creative outlets that I love, and the relationships I have formed with market organisers, stall holders and customers. The fear of becoming incapable to do the things I love has been frightening, and a very real possibility the last few months.

We still held our 2025 Halloween Raffle in October! Everyone, meet 'Invertibrati' - suggested by Jenna!

I'm not on top of things, like I used to be and want to be. I'm not ahead of blog posts as I would like to be. The craft room is in an utter state of disarray because I was in the middle of completely reorganising it when I became sick. And let's not talk about how much more I had planned for Halloween this year, and shop updates as a whole - so many ideas that haven't yet been touched!

But much like I designed Accessories by Antoinette to accommodate my health in the beginning, I can redesign it to be much more fitting in my recovery.

In the final weeks of 2025, and beyond, I’m aspiring to be kinder to myself, for the things that I am capable and now incapable at doing. It’s easy to cast blame and judgement on yourself, especially when you used to be able to do something. But shame, especially when it’s internal, plays no benefit in the role of healing. And I write that for myself, just as much as anyone else.

Kimberley (they/them)

Accessories by Antoinette