Sometimes You Have to Start Again

Hey lovely souls,

It’s February. We made it through January. Which means spring is edging closer. Hoorah. (For those of us in the northern hemisphere.)

Lately, my words have been circling the same feeling. A quiet low. I’ve avoided naming it, skirting around the phrase creative block. Maybe because saying it out loud gives it too much weight. This cycle is tightly woven into how I make a living, and how I feel in myself. When the well runs dry, everything seems to. It’s hard to make uplifting work when you don’t feel joyful. And not being able to create only deepens the feeling. A vicious cycle, really.

Alas, we keep going. In the smallest ways. Microscopic steps.

Recently, I was commissioned to create a custom painting. The brief was open and I had, give or take, full creative reign. Lilies, maybe poppies. Angelic, but not fairy-like. Colourful and hopeful, in the spirit of my other work. A gift of freedom, and yet, when you’re feeling fragile creatively, that kind of openness can feel... daunting.

I always begin with thumbnail scribbles. Loose marks, instinct-led. I’m not searching for answers yet, just listening. Watching how the character might sit within the space.

Since my college days, I’ve often found that the first sketch carries the seed of the final piece. Still, I let myself wander. I rinse my brain of ideas and options, just in case.

From there come the refined sketches. I rarely pick two, but decision paralysis took over. I chose the first... but about seventy percent in, something felt wrong. Quietly, but clearly. So I stopped. Analysed. Panicked a bit. Then let go. I often encourage perseverance, seeing something through, but when you know, you know.

And so, we begin again. Option two. Attempt two.

Gut instinct is something I’m leaning into more and more these days, which explains the spontaneous arrival of the border. I felt it brought warmth, a touch of folk tale, as if the painting contained a little story. Slightly rogue - and, more importantly, risky - to try something new for a commission.

In the end, the client was over the moon. A soft sigh of relief.

And for me, this first full painting of the year became something quietly meaningful. Despite the wobbles at the start, I felt calm while painting it. Grounded. As if each layer was gently reconnecting me to my work, and to myself.

A reminder that creativity doesn’t disappear. It just asks for patience... and the occasional messed-up painting along the way.

Until next time,