What Happened When I Painted Everything Cream

Have you noticed how the best ideas rarely arrive when you sit down and demand one?

They tend to show up while you’re fiddling; while you’re testing something you’re not even sure you care about, and while your mindset is 'let's just see what happens.'

I’ve been thinking a lot about Bob Ross's idea of “happy accidents” and I don’t think they’re accidents at all. I think they’re the result of creating the right conditions. Happy accidents come through a creative channel — and that channel only opens if we give it the chance to flow.

For me this means experimenting, testing materials, moving between things. If I allow myself to try substrates I've never used, or new tools, or ideas that don’t quite fit my supposed identity, something begins to happen.

My brain starts making connections - quiet ones at first. A surface reacts in a way you didn’t expect; a mark looks exciting; a small test suddenly feels more alive than the “important” piece I thought I should be working on.

That’s where my new ideas are born.

This year I’ve been deliberately giving myself more of that. I'm working on large abstract paintings, small collages, and self portraits. I'm using acrylic paint and crayons and charcoal and pastels and all kinds of different mediums. None of it has been particularly organised. I'm just moving between things and noticing what pulls.

And to do that, I’ve had to silence a very familiar voice. That's the voice that says "shouldn’t you stick to one thing?" or "aren’t you an abstract painter?" or 'Isn't this a bit too random?"

But see, I know that voice isn’t really mine. It’s a patchwork of things I’ve heard over the years. It's made up of random comments, bits of advice, and passing remarks that lodged somewhere and quietly became a rule.

If I listen to that voice, everything tightens. If I ignore it, things loosen. And when things loosen, something interesting can happen.

Earlier this week I felt a strange urge to paint all my half-finished canvases in a soft cream colour. I had absolutely no reason to do this. They were layered. Complex. Full of history. Part of me thought I was ruining them.

But the urge wouldn’t go away, so late one night, I went into my studio and spent an hour covering everything I hadn't finished.

The next day, once they were dry, I picked up charcoal and started drawing on one of them. And suddenly the surface behaved differently. I could draw and wipe back. Smudge and erase. Leave ghostly traces. The whole thing felt playful and responsive in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

I also felt the pull to paint a portrait of myself as a child. I had no clear intention - just a tug, which I followed. 

And that single act started to connect with other pieces I’ve been making. Themes began linking up. Memories surfaced. Visual ideas started branching out in directions I couldn’t have mapped in advance.

None of this happened because I sat down and thought, "right, I need a breakthrough." It happened because I’ve been creating an environment where something could happen.

It also happened because I ignored that udgy little voice. The judgement is the tricky part. It’s very quick to tell us we’re being unfocused or that our new work has no merit. 

But if we define ourselves too tightly, there’s nowhere for a new idea to land. We never know where the next spark will come from. It might arrive because you tried a different surface. Or because you scaled something up. Or because you allowed yourself to revisit an old memory. Or because you did something that didn’t make sense at the time.

I think our goal has to be to let go of control and set up an environment where we are always moving, always testing, always discovering. 

That’s how "happy accidents” find us, and boy is it the most glorious feeling when they do.

I find it so hard to convince some of my students to play with their materials - they feel play is wasteful or frivolous. But any successful artist will tell you the same as I am saying ... there is no worthwhile art without play and experimentation. There just isn't any other way to get where we want to go.

I must end now, as I have an idea to try the charcoal with airbrush medium on three different substrates. Can't wait to see what happens!