Oh no! Look what I did!

I’ve been searching for something in my work for a long time — and this week, I finally found it. Just the right mix of raw mark-making, energy, movement; interesting colours that don’t lean too far into harmony; a sense of action and forward motion; veils and mists.

I even made a list and pinned it up in my studio — a little reminder to help me stay on track. The idea was that I’d know when a painting captured the feeling I’m chasing.

So you can imagine how good it felt when I stepped back and saw all those things staring back at me from a canvas I’d been working on. And you might assume that’s when I’d put my brush down, call it done, maybe even sign it.

That would be a fair assumption… and I wish it were true.

But what I actually did was decide I could make it just a little better with a few small tweaks.

And those tweaks felt amazing! I was totally in control — using all my skills, all my colour knowledge, all my composition tricks — I felt brilliant.

Until the next morning, when I walked into my studio and realised the magic had gone. The energy had vanished, the composition was worse, and the painting had lost almost everything I’d loved about it.

It was ruined.

A few years ago, that would’ve crushed me. Now, I’ve got enough experience to know I can bring it back — and maybe even make it stronger. But I also know there was no real need. I could’ve stopped when I loved it and moved on to something new.

I actually recorded the whole process, and I’ll be sharing that video on my YouTube channel this Thursday — so keep an eye out if you’re curious. I’ll talk more there about what I learned.

But for now, I’ll just say this: I seem to need to learn (and re-learn!) that my paintings work best when I get out of their way. All that knowledge of colour and composition is great — but it’s already in me. I don’t need to think about it. When I try to use it consciously, I end up shrinking the amazing down to the ordinary.

What I’ve come to believe is that creativity doesn’t actually live inside us. It’s something we can channel — something that moves through us. It’s not ours to control.

And when we try to control it, we make our art less than it could be.