Imagine a creative companion that never criticizes, only celebrates. That’s the canvas before me - a silent conspirator in the joyful chaos of creation. With each brushstroke, whether timid or bold, intentional or accidental, it whispers, “Yes, and…?” It transforms my missteps into stepping stones, my hesitations into happy accidents.

Every mark is a possibility

This blank expanse of a canvas doesn’t just accept my artistic journey; it revels in it, turning every mark into a possibility, every splash into a spark of inspiration. In a world where my inner critic often speaks too loudly, the canvas’s quiet acceptance is a revolutionary act of kindness, inviting me to explore, experiment, and express without fear of judgment.

Yet, even in this liberating dance with creativity, I must heed my body’s cues or risk ruining the painting. If I listen, my body warns me when I’m pushing too hard or controlling too much. A tightness in my chest and shoulders, stiff movements, or a feeling of rushing like I’m late for an appointment - these are my signals. When they appear, I’ve learned to stop, put the brush down, step back, and breathe. I set the painting aside and let the angsty feelings go. This pause is as crucial to the process as the act of painting itself.

This is one of the reasons why I find it helpful to work on more than one painting at a time. Having multiple works in progress gives me the flexibility to move on to something that’s easier or that has a clearer path at that moment. I circle through the paintings until the earlier painting calls me back or until I’m relaxed enough ready to try again.

Creativity is Patient

Although creative inspiration can light a fire that drives us to express ourselves and make things, creativity is also a patient teacher. It doesn’t mind waiting. In fact, when I surrender control and turn my focus elsewhere, it’s like the painting still communes with me, but on another level, a level below my conscious awareness.

This other part of my brain occasionally noodles what I might try next. Not in an anxious way, but in a curious open way. It’s this curiosity and openness that allows the painting to speak to me. It whispers sweet nothings in my ear, mini inspirations and ideas that make me eager to return to it.

Follow the Stepping Stones

This means when I return to the painting, I often have an idea of some small thing to try next. This ebb and flow process is much like working with my intuition and spirit guides. It rarely shows me the full path and end destination, instead I’m given enticing stepping stones. It’s the same with my intuitive painting process, I don’t see the whole finished painting in my mind’s eye, I just sense the next small action to take … make a mark here, add more color there. It leads me one small step at a time. I keep going like this until I tire or have to get back to other life activities.

Either way, the painting will wait. It stays open and ready for me, and it welcomes me back like an old friend when I return. Usually it’s a day or two, other times more gestation is needed and it may need to sit fora few months. The waiting time is not empty however. It’s not purposeless. It’s waiting for something in me to shift so I can see the next step. And when I do, it’s like creativity claps with giddy joy, grabs my hand, and says let’s go paint!