It makes me sweaty and awkward whenever someone asks, “So what kind of art do you do?” A lot of people try different media to create with and find one that sticks. Not me. Things were either too sticky to let go of or too slippery to grasp. Drawing and painting: sticky. Music and performing: slippery. Textiles: too afraid to find out; I think they might bite.

I shrug and say, “I dabble in a few things, but I mostly write and paint with watercolors.” Try to keep things simple. Most people prefer it that way. They want to move on to asking what I like to paint (cue more sweating). No one expects my answer to be a novel—unless they ask about my writing.

Even within the creative world, there’s often an expectation that you have to pick one craft to focus on. Dabbling should only be a phase. It’s for students in foundation arts classes, late bloomers who always wanted to try art, and the burnt-out creative on a side quest to rekindle their inspiration. Despite that, many of us creative shapeshifters are playing outside of those boxes.

To dabble is to create with intentional curiosity and adventure. It’s a conscious shift in perspective. The focus isn’t on the final art produced, but rather how the creator wants to approach bringing it into being.

I have stopped to stare at a frostbitten maple leaf, admiring the sharp contrast between the white ice crystals and the deep crimson of dying chlorophyll. It’s as striking as it is temporary; the sun is rising over the trees and burning a steaming path over the browning grass. Once it reaches my leaf, the textures that caught my eye will be gone.

I can dip into my photography skills and race the sun while I adjust my camera settings. There’s an urgency in the craft. The stakes couldn’t be higher. If I don’t capture this moment in front of me right now, it will be gone forever. There will be more frost on more leaves, but this exact image that stopped me and made me willing to stand out in the cold because I felt something will never happen like this again.

Or I can take a quick photo—more to capture the idea than the feeling—and recreate it in ink and paint. The craft is a slow burn. First the form comes together, and then the values deepen and that eye-catching contrast emerges. At some point, imitating the photo becomes irrelevant. There is an image in my mind I am driven to see on the page because it will summon the feeling.

Or I can write about this leaf and the dozens of other leaves that have stopped me on countless winter sunrises. Not to show you what I saw, but to stir a memory in you of your own leaf. Because even without meeting you or ever knowing anything about you, I know you once noticed a leaf that made you feel in awe of a moment that just happened without anyone trying to make it so.

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It’s not really about the leaf. It’s about steeping in the feeling it inspires and letting something brew.

That brewing often bubbles over into other forms. It might look messy and like focus is drifting from what’s on the burner, but the ideas are simmering and breaking down a creative block.

How many times have I had to take a break from working on my manuscript only to find I’ve lost touch with the main character? I’ve been working on it for more than 10 years, so more times than I want to admit. When I want to return to the story, I start by drawing the main character to find her voice again.

It might be some casual doodles or a sketch I abandon after a few minutes. Sometimes it turns into something I continue to refine into something almost complete. With every mark in my sketchbook, my character’s expressions and posture become more clear in my mind. Shading brings out her attitude. Adding color reminds me of the things she says without saying them.

Just like that, I’m back in and the story picks up again.

It’s not indecision or procrastination to move between one medium and another. I think of it as a ritual of curiosity—a deeply intuitive exploration. To dabble is to trust our creativity to guide us down the unseen path between the idea in our minds and where that idea wants to live out in the world.

If you’ve ever felt pulled in many creative directions, I’d love to hear how you navigate that. What mediums do you move between? What do they reveal to you? Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments.