Clicking on the tab for Up All Night Again, the thought flitted quickly across my mind, "I wonder if there are any new posts?" Er no, dear, not unless you actually bother to write them!

It reminds me of the time that I accidentally hit backspace while surfing and wound up at my own Livejournal profile page. I glanced uncomprehendingly at my own interest list and thought, "hey, this person sounds way cool, I should friend them - oh, wait a minute..." Still, I guess the fact that I instinctively liked the look of myself is probably positive.

It's been a hectic week. My 40th birthday was on Saturday and my family threw a rather fabulous party for me complete with mountains of healthy yet delicious gluten-free food. We had about 30 people there and I was very touched that so many people, some of whom had travelled quite a distance, came to celebrate with me. I thoroughly enjoyed it and have decided that I should have birthday parties more often (although probably not every year).

The chocolates are all gone and the many bunches of flowers are starting to wilt but I'm still happily playing with several of my presents, which included a pile of books, a full set of Sakura glaze pens and a very cute, tiny set of travelling watercolours with a little water brush. Art materials - the gifts that keep on giving!

Unfortunately everything else is in flux at the moment because as soon as we got the party out of the way, I had to empty my study so that it could be decorated. I can't think what possessed me to arrange two such major events within two days of each other. I am temporarily installed in the living room and connecting to the net through the X-Box cable. The painters finished this afternoon but I need to buy a carpet and have that fitted before I can move back in. I also need to have a rethink about where everything goes and what I need to store. Oh, and buy a new desk because this Ikea one has bowed drastically in the middle, which is rather worrying in a piece of furniture that's holding a heavy and expensive Mac!

Continuing the decluttering and organising theme of the last few months, I'm using this an opportunity to get rid of some stuff. I've drastically culled my art magazine collection - I gave away about 50 of them and have another huge pile to donate to the art college where I do my jewellery course. I've kept the ones I still refer to but it feels wonderful to pass the rest onto people who will actually use them. And as an added bonus, it frees up a lot of storage space on my shelves. Next I have to tackle my many folders of saved articles and images.

I've come to understand that having too much stuff weighs me down and makes it far more difficult for me to create. I had the realisation about a month ago that it didn't matter how many neatly labelled boxes I had, if I simply had too much to store, then my shelves and cupboards were always going to be an impenetrable mess.

So lately I've been tackling The Cupboard Of Doom, a huge walk-in cupboard that we've thoroughly filled up with stuff. I've been systematically clearing it out; going through boxes, throwing things out, visiting the dump, filling up our weekly recycling bins and giving away hundreds of items on freecycle.

I've even surprised myself by being able to give away some art and craft supplies: usually I hold onto those for dear life but sorting out my studio has helped me to see what I already have and what I no longer use. Having too many supplies can actually be a disadvantage when making art because you can suffer from a sort of mental paralysis when faced with too many options. In addition, having vast quantities of supplies makes it harder to find the things you actually want to use.

Decluttering may not seem like it has much to do with art, but it feels as though what I'm really doing is making a much bigger space in my life for my art.

I spent some time in my local yarn store today. Sure, I needed yarn for my next couple of projects but much more than that, I needed an hour to soak up some colour and texture. I could have ordered the yarn from the shop's website and saved myself a trip in appalling traffic but I knew that I needed to go: something in me was craving that experience. I wanted to wander around, picking up the yarns and squashing the skeins in my fingers. I needed to feel the softness, the springiness and the resistance of the different fibres. But most of all, I needed to marvel at the myriad of colours. I needed to see the ways in which different dyers had married shades together, to notice how some tones zinged and jumped, while others were muted and subtle. I spent some time holding balls of yarn next to each other, testing to see which would go well together and which were jarring or unpleasant. I didn't have a particular project in mind, I just wanted to see what worked and what didn't. You can learn a lot this way - maybe art teachers should stop bothering with boring old colour wheels and just take their students to a fantastic yarn store instead!

I've never been brilliant at colour, I don't have the instinct for it that some artists do, but I still occasionally need a bit of colour therapy. Sometimes my muse (for want of a better word) craves time spent in art galleries, libraries, parks or beautiful buildings - and sometimes it just needs to smoosh some yarn!

I left with the yarn I'd planned to buy and only one extra thing (a bargain skein of very beautiful sock yarn) but more importantly, with my heart contented and my inspiration levels rising.

We all need to spend some time inspiring ourselves, otherwise our art will eventually run dry. What have you done to inspire yourself lately? Do you take yourself out on regular 'artists' dates', as Julia Cameron recommends? I often forget and only realise that I need to once it becomes a desperate craving. If you're in the same boat, then I hope you can take some time over the next few days or weeks to recharge those artistic batteries by doing something that's just for you. It's especially important to do this if you're caught up in the seasonal madness. It doesn't need to be much and it doesn't need to take long but I think it's vital to remind ourselves that our art is every bit as important as buying presents, baking cookies, decorating trees, placating relatives and all the other traditions that we may have encumbered ourselves with.

And if you don't celebrate anything at this time of year, then maybe you can indulge in your own personal art hibernation while all around are drowning in festivities? Get a pile of good art books from the library, stock up on some exciting new materials, shut the door and spend a few days just losing yourself in play. Mmm, sounds good to me!

Last night, my son had his 15th birthday 'sleepover' (why do they call them sleepovers when no sleep ever happens?), so I was in nominal charge of 8 teenage boys. This morning, as my son and I cleared up the quite considerable mess, I found myself musing over the similarities between parenting and art.

Art is an everyday thing. Like parenting, it is made up of lots of little moments, a thousand little decisions and a hundred thousand moments of just showing up - what Alison Lee of Craftcast calls "getting your butt in the chair".

Art is usually not the heroic struggle of Romanticism or the epic machismo of the 1950's Action Painters, although those big dramatic moments do sometimes occur, most often in the run up to an exhibition. Instead art - for me at least - is rooted in the everyday; in the daily ritual of the Diary Project envelopes, in the way I sit in my computer chair listening to podcasts while I do another couple of rows on a Thread Drawing canvas, in the slowly changing pile of art books that are permanently in residence under my bed.

Although it is not usually about domesticity, my art is firmly rooted in the home. I am fortunate enough to have a studio at home and like Virginia Woolf, I recognise the importance of having a room of my own. However, my art also takes place in other rooms in the house: in the living room while I'm watching TV with my family, in my bed where I often draw, in our library/dining room where I sit at the big table and stick photos into my sketchbook, in my study as I make work in front of the computer, in the shower where I think up ideas, in the kitchen when I get distracted from cooking by the sudden overwhelming need to photograph the ingredients.

Art permeates my whole life - it isn't confined to a set time or a set place.

In the myths about art, this everyday quality is often omitted. For some reason, it suits people to imagine dramatic moments of crazed genius, a life lived on the bohemian edge and a slow descent into madness, drugs and suicide. We seem to want our artists to be very different from everyone else. Perhaps the reality of getting your butt in the chair, like the daily grind and pleasure of parenting, seems too mundane to most people? Was this great art really made in front of the TV or with radio 4 playing in the background while the artist drank cups of tea and pottered around the studio - how dull! We wanted death threats and overdoses, tortured homosexual love affairs, rats and cockroaches in the studio, drunken pissing in the fireplace, body parts cut off and maybe a couple of tragic stabbings!

But art - like parenting - is not something you do once in one grand and shocking gesture and then never again. Instead, it's a constant trickle, a constant reiteration that this tiny thing, this moment of awareness, this quiet, everyday dedication is the really important thing.

Paul Catanese, Assistant Professor of New Media at San Francisco State University kindly sent me info about a panel on art blogging that he's chairing at the College Art Association Conference in Dallas in February 2008.

He brings up some interesting questions in the panel blurb:

An explosion of new blogs from artists, collectors, galleries, residency programs and museums are reshaping notions of professional practice within the arts. Though promotion is certainly a major driver in this arena, sites such as Art.Blogging.LA, Walker Blogs, Art Fever and PORT are especially good at projecting a local arts scene into a broader context. Other models investigate blog as sketchbook, establishing a new format for the open atelier. Does art blogging indicate the emergence of a dislocated, yet thoroughly local arts scene? Can blogs shift the space of studio practice while retaining its capability to be unstructured? Is the quest for site traffic inherently at odds with healthy periods of gestation and dormancy? What models exist for balancing these forces? What are the implications for establishing or maintaining an art practice for those who remain virtually present, yet physically distant?

This jumped out at me: Is the quest for site traffic inherently at odds with healthy periods of gestation and dormancy? This is a particularly interesting question to me right now since I'm currently not at my best health-wise and I'm trying to balance regular updating here with a need for large amounts of sleep and cold medicine (could make for some funky blogging this week!) It's great to see someone recognising that art practice does require these dormant periods where you're cooking up new work and aren't ready to talk about it yet and I can certainly see how that could make keeping a sketchbook type blog difficult. Indeed, I've noticed that it's not uncommon for artists who're doing a blog that's focused on their own work to go a bit quiet on occasion.

Anyway, if you're interested, Paul's currently looking for panel members and the deadline for abstracts is the November 9, 2007.