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Peter, that's an interesting observation. I also find that some fallow time can recharge and rejuvenate in surprising ways. I can, for example, be stuck in a pattern or repertoire of guitar playing for months, become bored with it and set it down for as much as many weeks, and almost without exception, compose some of my favorite instrumental pieces immediately upon returning to playing. And those original pieces are quite unlike anything I'd been doing before -- and unlike anything I could have done before. I don't know why that happens, but I'm happy to take it. (Just wish I could patent it, and at least generate some revenue from it.)
I also understand the value of daily, or at least ongoing, attention to the mastery of skills. Were I playing concerts, or trying to master some Chet Atkins tab, instead of just picking for my own enjoyment, it would be foolhardy to omit regular practice. There's an old adage about that, which I'll have to paraphrase, to the effect that, if you miss one day of practice, only you will notice. Two days, your friends will notice. Skip three sessions, and everyone will know. [Maybe Sargent and Segovia took a break once in a while, though. Who knows? (Self-styled "art historians", yes, but . . .)]
Sidebar to Kim: go to lunch. Tell yourself (not your husband) that you've been working hard, and the break will provide the incubation period for wondrous things to come when you return to the studio. Just tell your husband, "That would be great!" Then everybody gets something they need. (Don't talk about art over tacos. Let your brain shift to a different discipline or subject. That's often the kick-start for new energy and ideas later.)
There are Olympians on the field, yes, but it's okay for the rest of us to just do our own work and have a good game. Which requires practice and attention.
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