A horrible week. And then, a little hope

On Monday, I was looking forward to a great studio week. I had very few appointments or commitments - just a long stretch of 5 days to paint. Bliss!

On Monday, I started a painting based on a photograph of my brother and me in bumper cars. These cars were my brother's favourite thing, and I wanted the painting to carry a feeling of joy and energy. I decided that the starting point for that was the bright colours of the cars - both were slightly garish in the way things were in the 1970s.

I changed the colours a little, but kept that brightness. It made sense for the photograph, and it made sense for what I wanted to express.

As I began to add the colours, I wasn’t really enjoying the painting, but I didn't worry too much at that stage as I often find the early stages less enjoyable. I broke off on Monday evening, uninspired but aware that I had a whole week to put things right.

Then, on Tuesday, I woke up to find my 20 year-old cat had suffered a stroke. She was dragging one side of her body, trying to walk but falling over, and going around in confused circles. She was also crying in loud distress.

I knew I had no choice but to take her to the vet for the worst of all appointments.

It was sudden and heartbreaking. I’ve had her for a long time, and she was bound up with so many other memories, so losing her hit me much harder than I’d expected - for such a small cat, she left a very large hole in my home.

On Wednesday, I couldn’t do anything. I just couldn’t find the energy to care about my paintings or much else and I didn't even venture to the studio.

On Thursday I still felt low, so I went out for a walk and gave myself a talking to. It's so easy to slip out of a studio habit. There's always something easier to do - maybe I could clean out the fridge, or give the grass a final cut. Maybe I could just make cups of tea and watch Gilmore Girls on repeat. I know how easy it is to go that way, so I talked myself into going into the studio just to have a look and maybe tidy up a little bit. I even managed a few changes to the painting, although nothing that made a difference.

Friday, I got myself back into the studio at 9am sharp, although I still wasn't feeling excited (like I said, there was a lot wrapped up in that little cat).

I returned to the bumper car painting and kept trying things. I’d make a change, dislike it, then respond with another change. There was a lot of activity, but I still couldn’t find my way into the painting. I kept changing the colours of the cars as nothing felt quite right - maybe that red needs to be a little brighter. That doesn't look great - what if I muted the green?

By Friday afternoon, I had been through 7 or 8 layers and time was running out. 

And finally, I had a thought. What if I gave up on the bright colours? What if I used the cooler, more muted palette I’d been enjoying in the other family paintings?

It sounds such an obvious thing to try. But I’d been so busy changing everything else that I hadn’t properly questioned this one decision. The colours had a reason to be there; they belonged to the cars; they were supposed to express joy. It was a reasonable idea, but somehow I had allowed an initial thought to become a hard and fast rule.So I changed them. I returned to the cooler, more muted palette that had been working on the other paintings in the series. Suddenly, things started to feel better. My decision on warm colours had led me astray, so I wondered if my decision to have a light background had done the same.

All of a sudden, I was in that excited state of mind  - you know the one - you can't mix the paint fast enough. Once I added a deep green behind the figures, my painting began to click into place. 

The composition I’d been struggling with became something I actually liked. I could see possibilities and I wanted to explore them. By the time I had to stop, I was excited to come back.

The painting is still at the very early stages, but something has opened up. I know where I am going and what my next steps are.

And I keep thinking about the hours I spent trying to make those early colour decisions work. I’d been willing to change all sorts of things, but the bright colours and light background had stayed because I could explain them.They made logical sense.

But I hadn't actually stopped to ask: “do they work in this painting?”

We can get ourselves into so much trouble that way. We choose something for a good reason, then carry on treating it as a requirement, long after our experience has begun to tell us otherwise.

Sometimes it’s a colour palette. Sometimes it’s the size we’ve decided to work at, the subject we’ve committed to, or an idea about what our work ought to look like. We keep adjusting everything around it, trying to solve the problem without touching the thing we’ve set in stone.

But we’re allowed to change that too. I still want to express joy with this painting but there's more than one way to do that. Bright colour was just a first idea that didn't really work. I’m curious now about what else might be possible.

It was a sad week, and I’m still a little sad. Finding a way forward with my painting doesn’t tidy all that up completely - but I am grateful to my work for helping me get back to a state of excitement and engagement with life. 

It's always easier to stay still - there is no risk in sitting in a chair with the Gilmores for company. But there's also no reward beyond feeling a little numb for a while.

This week, I don't have a deep profound message other than this: we are so lucky to be creative beings. We are so blessed to have something that keeps our brains active and excited, even when other things are hard. I really do look at Muggles with genuine sympathy - how on earth do they cope?

And if you've been avoiding your art for some reason, I suppose I hope this email might be the nudge you need to get back to it. It doesn't always feel easy, but if you get over the hump, there is so much there for you.