Thinking Out Loud

A loose plan for painting more, experimenting freely, and seeing where it leads.

I need a plan.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve felt a little like a fish flopping around out of water. And that’s okay, at least to some degree. Grace. Some seasons are simply slower than others.

But I’ve also found myself filling more and more of that open time with scrolling. Scrolling, scrolling, and then scrolling some more. It isn’t making me feel rested or inspired, and I need to break the habit. Like yesterday.

I hesitate to make some big proclamation about what I’m going to do next because what happens if I start something and immediately think, “I hate this,” and stop? So I’m not making any grand declarations just yet. I’m simply thinking out loud and sharing where my mind has been lately.

Part of me wonders whether this is even worth sharing before I know where it’s going, but this is exactly why I started Paint and Paper. I wanted a place to document the process while I’m in it, not only after I’ve figured everything out.

The Thinking

First, I think I need more structure and direction.

I tend to work best, and get the most done, when I have a plan and know what I’m working toward. That has me thinking about creating some sort of series. Something I can return to each day without having to spend too much time deciding what to paint.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but one piece of advice I hear again and again is to make more. Paint 100 of them. Try it again. Create a series. There is something valuable about returning to the same subject or idea over and over, allowing each painting to teach you something about the next one.

Second, I think working in a series could help me experiment with less fear of failure. When you know there are 99 more paintings ahead of you, one unsuccessful attempt doesn’t feel quite so important.

I’ve been struggling a little with my plein air work, and I think some of that comes from the pressure I place on each painting. I’m spending hours on this, so surely I should walk away with something brilliant, right?

That is not a particularly helpful way to begin a painting. It leaves very little room for curiosity, experimentation, play, or JOY!

Third, I’ve been especially interested in reflected color lately.

I recently finished a workshop with Anne Blair Brown that was all about color, and reflected color came up several times. It is something I admire so much in her work, as well as in the work of many other artists.

I was also talking with Peggi Kroll Roberts about this. I came across one of her paintings and noticed all of these seemingly magical shifts in color. I asked her about them, and she was kind enough to create a full hour-long demonstration for her Patreon. I think her Patreon is wonderful, by the way.

Anne often talks about the ABCs of painting, meaning the basic principles we need to understand. I feel like I have at least a handle on some of those basics. Right? Now I’m trying to uncover the Ds, Es, and Fs. What are the things that will help me push my paintings a little further?

I know reflected color, along with broken color, which I now understand is something different, could bring more life and interest to my work. Of course, there are plenty of other things I could improve too, but this particular idea keeps calling for my attention. It feels like a good place to begin.

The Plan

All of this thinking has led me back to still life.

For a while, I’d like to focus on very simple still-life arrangements. A plate, a piece of fruit, a bowl, or a mug placed on a single-colored surface. Maybe something as uncomplicated as an apple on a plate. If you take a look at the still-life board on my Pinterest page, you’ll get a better idea of what I mean. I’m not looking to create a beautiful or masterful still life set-ups or even necessarily good design. That’s not the goal.

I’m imagining these as small, focused paintings with simple setups. With fewer objects and distractions, I can give myself permission to explore one thing at a time, whether that’s reflected color, edges, temperature shifts, or simply learning to look more carefully. Some may work, some may not, and some might surprise me.

This doesn’t mean I can’t paint other things. I’ll still meet with my plein air group and follow whatever else inspires me. But I would like these still lifes to become a regular practice. Something I can turn to instead of mindless scrolling or finding another way to avoid beginning. I’m also hoping that what I learn through these paintings will carry over into the other work I’m making. That’s the goal, at least.

In the back of my mind, I keep thinking about committing to 100 paintings. I like the idea of that number, but I don’t want the project to become a race to reach it. The number isn’t really the point.

The point is to keep showing up. To look more closely. To experiment. To make enough paintings that I can stop expecting every one of them to be brilliant and allow them to teach me something instead.

Maybe I’ll make 100. Maybe I’ll make 30 and discover a completely different path. For now, I’m going to begin with one simple still life and see where it leads. I’ll share some of the paintings, the questions, and whatever I discover here as I go. No grand proclamation. Just a place to begin.