The Artistic Process: What the H*** Am I Doing? - Part 2: Painting

Where?

While I dream of a spacious Berlin art studio, reality finds me painting in my living room (aka bed room/tv room/yoga studio/dog home).

This constraints me to work on a medium-sized table or the floor for larger canvases, shaping my art practice and the artworks themselves. Despite yearning to paint on a grand scale, I settle with making smaller pieces, trying see it as an opportunity instead of a hindrance. To do small works means that you can go faster and do more. It’s easier, quicker - and cheaper.

The Ritual

My goal is to paint every day but if I’m honest it’s more like 4 times a week. The painting session always starts with a ritual. I change to my painting clothes, get the bucket of water and brushes and bring the palettes from the kitchen.

Next, I prepare tea or coffee and maybe a snack and turn on a podcast or a live show.

Then I pull out the paintings I’m currently working on, usually around five to ten at a time, and arrange them around my room. I walk around and look at them trying to decide which one to work on at first.

The Procrastination Struggle

This stage can drag on for quite a while. I find myself pacing back and forth, often remembering something urgent that “needs” my attention—like checking Instagram, unloading the washing machine, jotting down an important thought, or going through my emails.

It’s fear that holds me back. I’m scared of diving in, afraid of being reminded time and again that I’m not talented enough, interesting enough, or that I have nothing new to contribute. There’s a nagging worry that I’m wasting my time, that I’m deluding myself. This fear is always lurking, and I need to get over it to be able to get started. It is like walking through a corridor of fear until I enter the room where I am free to paint.

Once I enter, I usually pick the painting that looks the most disastrous. It feels safer to work on something that looks awful—after all, it’s harder to fail when the stakes are low. As I get into working on one piece, I continue on to the next, following the same approach. Typically, I spend two hours or more in these sessions, working on three to five paintings at a time.

Procrastinating, pacing and pondering

What Am I Searching For?

Yes, there’s something I’m seeking when I paint, though it can be tricky to articulate. At the start of a new piece, I feel completely free—like I’m sketching. I choose colors based on instinct, without any clear direction, and this initial stage is the most delightful part. But soon enough, the painting reaches a point where it signals that it’s had enough. When that happens, I set it aside and move on to the next piece.

The next painting might be one I’ve been working on for months. I try to see it with fresh eyes, but that’s often challenging. I start analyzing it—what works, what doesn’t, what resonates with me? I keep the elements I like and paint over the ones I don’t.

As I paint, I pick colors intuitively. When I’m in tune with the process, the artwork seems to guide me. It might say, “I need some baby blue,” and so I mix that shade and apply it. Or it could express a need for “a calm, expansive area,” and I create that space. It might even ask for “more lines” or “some added chaos.”

This is typically when the painting has the best chance of turning out well, and it’s also when I can truly enjoy the process.

I aim to create something interesting, beautiful, expressive, and maybe even a little strange and weird. I love art which has a strong personal, emotional expression in it, it's usually abstract art but it doesn't have to be. Ultimately, I’m in search of something that feels authentically me, and this will probably take a lifetime.

When to Stop?

I often feel like I’m never truly finished with a painting; there’s always a sense that it could be improved, which of course, is true.

Over the years, I’ve painted over countless pieces, hoping to save money on canvases while creating something new and better on top. Sometimes it works out, and sometimes it doesn’t. I really wish I had taken photos of all those hidden, buried artworks.

It’s incredibly challenging for me to declare a painting “done.” There’s a strange pain in that finality. This probably warrants a deeper psychological exploration, but that’s a discussion for another time!

So, there you have it. This is the best I can do to articulate my painting process.

Next Wednesday I’ll list my dog-cafe´s for all the Berlin dog-owners so stay tuned if that’s your Ding!