Where does the work really begin?

We often talk about making art as if it begins the moment we pick up a brush or open a sketchbook. But lately, I’ve been thinking about how much of the real work happens before that.

The ideas. The questions. The walks where you turn a problem over in your mind. The long, slow stares at a half-finished piece.
The half-thoughts scribbled in the margins of your journal.

That’s where it begins. In the quiet. In the wondering. In the space between doing and not doing.

It’s easy to feel guilty about time spent not actively making. But I’ve come to believe this is one of the most important parts of the creative process.

This is where meaning starts to form. This is where the art gathers weight. This is where you begin to know something — even if you don’t yet know what it will look like.

If we don't realise this, we can miss all of the best idees. They don't always show up as huge "light bulbs" moments - often they emerge in the quietest of half-formed whispers. Whispers that we can't hear if we're busy pushing ourselves to do more or achieve more or finish more.

But there’s a kind of deep listening that can happen when we’re not pushing. 

I’ve found that when I allow more space outside the studio, I bring more clarity into it.

I was reminded of this last week. I had been battling a particular painting for a while. it just didn't seem to know what it wanted to become. One day, I put my brush down in frustration and went out into my garden. It was a beautiful day and I enjoyed a peaceful half-hour just listening to the birds and stroking my dog.

Just as I was about to stand up, I heard one of those whispers. "Change the palette," it said.

Back in my studio, my eyes fell on the tub of cad yellow that I use to mix my greens. And within half an hour, I had revitalised not one, but two troublesome paintings with great big juicy dollops of Indian yellow and cad yellow mixes. 

Sometimes these realisations come after half an hour - sometimes they take months to arrive. At those times, I find myself avoiding my studio and doing other things, just waiting for those whispers to make themselves heard.

I thought this was worth sharing, because if you’re in a season where you’re not making as much as you’d like, it's easy to bear yourself up, or start to worry that maybe you've lost it.

You may not be blocked. You may just be in the beginning.

And beginnings are quiet :)

work in progress