This winter, for the first time, I've been affected by kaamosväsymys (polar night fatigue). Or, I don’t know if it’s really kaamosväsymys, but that’s what I associate it with. I easily sleep past nine every morning. That’s quite late, as I usually wake up feeling cheerful and refreshed between five and seven and get right to work. Now, I might stay cozy under the covers until there’s at least a faint glimmer of light through the window, just enough to make out the nearby trees in the darkness. By the time the light fully awakens, it’s usually close to ten.

For a while now, I’ve had the feeling that I don’t want to do anything. Absolutely nothing. Watching the fireplace from under a blanket is more than enough. I try to dig into my mind to see if some spark of inspiration for something creative might appear. Maybe some new ideas for projects will rise up from the sea of flames. I have options and outlets for creativity to bloom: photography, video, music, and writing.

But none of them have appeared for a while. My mind has felt as empty as fresh snow in the morning.

It’s very common that, at times, there are just no ideas, no matter how much you dig for them. It’s like trying to preserve a snowflake. Every time you catch one, it melts in your hand, no matter what you do. You can repeat the process as many times as you want, but the result won’t change.

Even though I know it’s normal to feel lost without ideas, it’s still frustrating. Creating is wonderful. Diving deep into an idea makes everything else disappear. The cold, the tiredness, the darkness—all of it vanishes. It feels like a part of my personality. Without creativity, I feel a little lost. Without purpose.

So I decided to go looking for it. If creativity won’t come to me, I’ll go to it. Because I know where it’s hiding. How had I forgotten?

I packed my photography gear onto the kicksled I received as a Christmas gift and zipped down the frozen village road. The foggy, gray winter that looked so dull and uninspiring from inside turned into something magically mysterious outside. A lone raven croaked from the top of a spruce along the way, like a figure from old mythology, with all its wisdom.

I traveled nearby, but far enough to find what I was looking for. After a few kilometers, I left the kicksled in the snow and started trudging through the deep snow into the foggy winter forest. Heading toward nothingness. The forest welcomed me in complete silence, as if it had been waiting for me for a while.

As I walked through the deep snow, I thought. What sense was there in this? Heading off aimlessly into thigh-deep snow, without a goal or an idea? All it does is make me sweat, my camera gear weighs down my back, and snow keeps filling my shoes as fast as I try to shake it out.

Walking through the snow is slow and quickly becomes boring. My thoughts drift away from cold toes and the tedious trudging. From discomfort and lack of ideas.

Then, it happens. I remember how to find my way back to inspiration.

I get an idea, then another. They fall on me like heavy snow from tired tree branches. It’s like I’ve found the right radio channel amid all the static, and suddenly the sound is clear again, and the signal is open. I leave most of the ideas to wait their turn in the back of my mind. Somewhere in the place that, just moments ago, was echoing with emptiness. I know they’re safely there, waiting for their time.

I search through the snowy expanse for a spot to bring the first idea to life. I work on it for a while, losing track of time, because time always disappears when I’m lost in an idea. Time is the last thing I think about when I’m creating.

In winter, everything is harder. Since I always execute my creative ideas alone, photographing and filming solo means trudging back and forth through deep snow with the camera. I have to race against the timer to get myself in the shot. But it doesn’t matter—it feels like I can breathe a little easier again.

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After some time—when there was no longer enough light—I had enough. I was tired of sneaking through the snow, but in so many other ways, I felt refreshed.

Where did the inspiration finally come from? For me, there is almost always a sure answer, a pattern that repeats time after time. Regardless of the season, energy level, or life situation.

Nature and boredom. That's it.

I take myself somewhere and physically lose myself. To a place with no external stimuli, no sounds, no people, nothing but empty nature. For me, it's like a blank canvas for a painter.

I put myself to doing something that leaves no room for doing anything else. I bore my mind. I ski, walk, trudge through snow, bike, row. It doesn't matter.

After a small round, during which my mind usually first runs through the basics of life: what needed to be done at home next, did I remember to lock the door, should I schedule a massage for the dog next week, my thoughts are freed. They find a new dimension. They find the colors to paint the next painting.

After that, the rest comes naturally. The painter knows their craft when the tools and canvas are in place.

I return home feeling refreshed and happy. Alive. Maybe now I’ve cleared the dust from the creative channel, and next time it’ll find the right frequency more easily.

In the evening, I walk the dogs along the quiet village road under a bright starry sky. The northern lights ripple on the northern horizon, in the same direction I had kicked the sled earlier in search of inspiration. A raven flies overhead, its silhouette crossing the road before disappearing into the black forest with a croak. Maybe it knew something all along that I didn’t.