As I continue my research for this summer, I have been absolutely enraged and pleased with the project in front of me, as is the way with anything creatively enriching. Although unsurprising, one of the most pressing obstacles I’ve encountered has been the difficulty of gaining access to witness an embalming. From the conception of this project, I anticipated there would be red tape around this aspect of my research, but I didn’t quite expect the process to be so protracted and restrictive. As my research is firmly rooted in modern American death practices, being able to observe an embalming firsthand feels crucial to the integrity and depth of my work. It would allow me to build not only a more accurate visual language but also to better understand the clinical, emotional, and near ceremonial nuances of body preparation. Unfortunately, the sensitivity of the procedure, privacy concerns, and institutional hesitance have all made this access difficult to secure, which has been a source of growing frustration. That said, I’m exploring alternative ways to gather related knowledge, such as speaking with professionals and studying detailed anatomical documentation with medical imagery.
In terms of personal hurdles, the most persistent are time and energy. I am currently working full time with children, which, although rewarding, is physically and emotionally exhausting. This kind of work demands constant attention, patience, and emotional regulation, which has left me drained by the end of each day. While I initially thought I could manage both my job and my research by simply being more disciplined, I have quickly come to realize that no amount of time-blocking can compensate for the inevitable burnout of childcare. It’s not just about scheduling hours for research – it’s about having the mental clarity and creative energy to use that time effectively.
To prevent these demands from completely derailing my progress, I’ve begun treating weekends as sacred time for my project. I’ve also accepted that my daily productivity will ebb and flow with my energy levels. This has been a hard lesson in self-compassion and realism, but I’m reinforcing the knowledge that managing time also means managing expectations. I have very recently begun experimenting with small but meaningful energy shifts, namely blasting music that inspires me while commuting, keeping sketchbooks nearby for spontaneous ideas, and carving out short bursts of focused work even if I can’t get into a long flow state. My sketches and the work I have output has not been particularly satisfying, especially not for the unreasonably high expectations I have set for myself, but I feel I am getting closer to what I want to achieve.
Honestly, I’m still adjusting, and I won’t pretend that I’ve figured it all out. But the act of adjusting, of constantly reassessing what I can give and where I can conserve energy, has helped me stay connected to the heart of my project. And there has been good news worth celebrating. After weeks of sketching, writing, and reevaluating, I finally have a clear creative direction for my final installation. I’ve defined the visual and thematic arc of the work, and for the first time, I can see how the pieces will exist in space – how they’ll interact with the viewer, how I want them to be arranged, and what kind of atmosphere I want to create.
This newfound clarity has brought an enormous sense of relief. For a while, I was circling the same core themes of decay, the sacredness of decomposition, and invented belief systems without a clear plan for how to bring them to life visually. One of my biggest struggles was figuring out how to bridge modern American death practices, which are reverent yet often uneasy in their confrontation with mortality, with historical traditions from around the world that engaged with death more openly and spiritually. Now, I’ve arrived at a vision that weaves together the ceremonial, spiritually rooted death rituals of various cultures with the clinical, restrained approach typical of contemporary American burials. With this foundation, I can begin making more intentional decisions about materials, scale, and the viewer’s sensory experience. Having this structure in place has not only made the work feel more achievable but also more creatively invigorating. It’s become a guiding light for the rest of the summer – a clear reminder of what I’m working toward.
In short, the process so far has been marked by both setbacks and breakthroughs. Access issues, exhaustion, and the balancing act of full-time work have made this summer more complicated than I would have liked. But I’m adapting. I’m discovering ways to protect my energy, rethink my timelines, and remind myself that progress can be nonlinear. And most importantly, I’ve landed on a creative path that feels compelling and purposeful, one that I’m eager to keep exploring.
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