I had imagined this week looking rather different. After the disappointment of the World Cup, my enthusiasm dipped a little, and instead of long days in the studio I’ve found myself outside with a paintbrush of a very different kind. Giving the garden railings a much-needed fresh coat.
(It’s funny how life has a habit of rearranging our plans. The practical jobs still need doing, and sometimes creativity has to fit into the spaces in between.
For a while, I used to feel frustrated by weeks like this. I would worry that I wasn’t making enough work or that I was losing momentum. But over time I’ve realised that creativity isn’t measured solely by the hours spent in the studio. Sometimes it’s about paying attention, gathering ideas and allowing yourself to move at a different pace.
Slow Transformation
Painting the railings isn’t especially glamorous, but there’s something satisfying about slowly transforming them. The rhythm of brushstrokes, the gradual covering of old paint, the patience it requires – perhaps it’s not so different from making art after all. It would usually be a nightmare if a job as there are a lot of railings but my nephew is helping out so makes the job a lot easier.
When I do get back into the studio, I find myself returning to my sea-inspired abstracts on paper. They have become a place of quiet familiarity. I’m still drawn to the calming palette of blues, soft neutrals and weathered textures that remind me of the coastline. Each piece develops slowly, layer by layer, with small adjustments that often feel almost invisible until I step back and see how far they’ve come.
Don’t Just Celebrate the Big Wins
It made me think about how often we celebrate dramatic breakthroughs and big achievements, while overlooking the quieter kind of progress. The work that happens steadily, almost unnoticed. The sketchbook pages. The experiments that don’t quite succeed. The painting that’s revisited half a dozen times before it finally feels resolved. The everyday jobs that make a house feel cared for and, in their own way, create the space for creativity to flourish.
Living by the coast has taught me that the sea is never in a hurry. It ebbs and flows in its own time. Some days it’s calm and reflective; other days it’s restless and full of energy. Neither is better than the other—they’re simply different states of the same sea.
Perhaps our creative lives are much the same.
Not every week needs to be hugely productive. Not every painting needs to be finished. Sometimes simply staying connected to your practice, even in small ways, is enough. A few hours in the studio. A handful of new papers. A layer of paint. A moment spent looking out at the sea.
Progress doesn’t always announce itself. Often it arrives quietly, built from ordinary days and small acts of making.
And perhaps that’s something worth celebrating too.