I'm not in the winter of my years... maybe early autumn (at 57).
For an American male born in 1958, life expectancy from that point forward is 66 years, 31 weeks, 1 day, 9 hours, and 36 minutes.
Splitting the difference as a best estimate and thus assuming an age of 57.5 years old, it means that male will have already lived 86.3% of his 1958 life expectancy, with only a smallish 13.7%, or about 9.1 years, remaining. Now that's not to imply he has only those 9.1 years remaining for certain. That's just an average. It could actually be less.
The Lion in Winter...
Knowledge is control. Unknown is fear. When I say situational awareness what I am really saying is control replacing fear through the acquisition of knowledge regarding one's surroundings. Those on birth beds and death beds fear everything beyond 12-inches because it's unknown. The larger one's bubble of awareness—of knowledge—the less fearful of those surroundings one becomes, and the more risk one is capable of taking.
If one is a risk-taker in general, not just in art, that innate behavior will not decline with advancing age. What declines is that bubble of awareness in which one lives, and thus the absolute levels of the relative risks being taken. Older people with smaller bubbles still knowingly take what they believe are the same risks. But they are risks that younger people now see as laughably safe choices. And younger people with larger bubbles take risks that older people are horrified to even think about.
The same goes for the very young existing in equally small bubbles of awareness as the very old.
When my son was three years old I watched him stand in the driveway holding his mom's leg. He slowly worked up his courage, took a deep breath, let go, and walked about ten feet down that driveway and into the frightening unknown. That was it. At ten feet he crashed into his bubble, turned around, and ran as fast as he could back to the safety of mom's leg. He had just taken the biggest risk of his life.
It's kind of like the theory of relativity. The shortest distance between two points is always a straight line. Except that sometimes, and under certain conditions of spatial dilation, the definition of straight changes. And the definition of shortest distance has no other choice but than to change with it.
How does this affect one's art?
Just speculating, but perhaps such that the risks one sees oneself taking with only 13.7% remaining are just as significant, and scary, as they were when one still had 50% or 70% remaining. But maybe they no longer look as significant, or scary, to those outside that 13.7% (and still shrinking) bubble of awareness. One is still moving in a straight line for the shortest possible distance. But at only 13.7% remaining, the definition of straight and shortest have inexorably changed.
After my son scurried back I got into my car and drove 45 miles to work without giving that distance a second thought, smiling quaintly at my son's immense bravery in walking those ten feet, but also knowing something he didn't. That ten feet was really no big deal, and that when he eventually achieved the same adult speed as I was traveling at through life, his definition of straight and shortest, and my definition of straight and shortest, would become identical.
At least until I began to get old...
Ken