Sometimes I talk to my paintings. (They usually talk back.)
At some point in almost every piece, though, they switch to the silent treatment. It’s wildly frustrating—and completely normal. The truth is, I spend a lot of time in what I call the Messy Middle—that stretch where everything feels like it’s unraveling. My internal dialogue during a painting usually sounds something like this:
Beginning:
This is so fun. I’m so excited. This painting is going to be amazing.
Beginning, Part 2:
Still great. I see where this is going. The conversation between me and the painting is flowing.
Middle, Part 1:
Hmm. This is harder. I’m not sure where to go next. This feels less like dancing and more like trudging uphill.
Middle, Part 2 (The Messy Middle):
This is terrible. I’m terrible. Why did I think I could do this? I clearly have no skills. I am now aggressively negotiating with this canvas. The painting has stopped speaking to me. Psychological warfare has begun.
(At this point, a concerned family member or Studio Pet usually intervenes and orders a break.)
Middle, Part 3:
Okay. I can do this. Check notes. Walk away. Put painting in the Naughty Corner for a week. Lightbulb moments tend to arrive when I stop forcing them.
Homestretch, Part 1:
Yes. I see it now. New perspective. Let’s go.
Homestretch, Part 2:
Big exhale. It’s nearly finished. Just details left—which I love. Studio Pet and I both relax.
I’d love to tell you painting is always magical and inspired… but I don’t believe in lying. Most of the time it’s like anything meaningful: discipline, grit, and a lot of mindset work.
So why do I keep doing it?
Because the feeling when a piece finally comes together—the pride, the quiet yes moment, the knowing that I’ve created something only I could give the world—is indescribably worth it.
Why am I sharing this?
As a gentle reminder that the Messy Middle—whether it’s art, family life, motherhood, work, or any other brave thing you’re building—isn’t a sign you’re failing. It’s a sign you’re in the middle of something meaningful.
I can’t get to the breakthrough without first wrestling with my own mindset. The challenge is what stretches me. It’s what builds the quiet kind of confidence that only comes from having stayed when it would’ve been easier to quit. And on the other side of that stretch is always a place I couldn’t have reached without first walking through the messy part.
