You might think it’s a simple thing, this paint-splattered life of mine. That I simply love colour and get to paint pretty pictures every day. Make art, sell art, straightforward. Easy breezy, paint tube squeezey. That I’m living a creative "happily ever after" romance story.
You would be wrong.
Mostly.
Sort of.
The real story, the raw and honest TRUE love story, is much, much more complicated than that.
Mine is not the wispy, saccharine romance of Harlequin novels, nor does it follow any straightforward, predictable plot points. The greatest love of my life is a complex, messy, playful but painful, obsessive, passionate, utterly baffling love.
It’s addictive highs and destructive lows. It can tear me apart in one moment only to build me back up in the next. It’s gloriously fun and keeps me on my toes. It takes as much as it gives and in many ways, it will never really love me back.
It is a lonely, all-consuming, all-encompassing devotion to the creative process—completely immersed in my own world, exhaustively following my imagination and expressing my thoughts and feelings through colour.
My work is my life, my entire world, and my purpose for being.
And I love it.
Painting. My one true love.
A lifelong practice built on gratitude, expressed in colour, and forever searching for joy.
In Love with the Process
I love the whole process of creating something out of nothing. I love the rush of excitement as inspiration hits, wrestling with it in my mind until it takes shape as a workable idea, and the idea doodles begin.
I love the hours of preparation—the beginning parts, the "I haven’t ruined anything yet" parts. The smell of gesso and all the unspoiled promise of a bright white, brand new canvas.
I love putting on my headphones, blocking out the world, and muffling my thoughts. It’s my signal for imagination to wake up. I love hearing my favourite music (shout out @Blugazer) and taking that first big "here we go" breath as I surrender into the flow. Or at least, try to.
Creating Something Out of Nothing
I love squeezing paint tubes and watching fully saturated colour globs land on my palette. I love the push and pull of brushes across the surface, the sight of light reflecting off wet paint.
I love how paint slides, mixes, blends, and mashes together, layer upon layer, stroke after stroke, building into something beautiful—or weird, or ugly, or simply not done yet. Whatever it is, I love it.
I love how hours disappear when I work, and disappear completely when I play.
And I love how one tiny spark of an idea, one curious little flash, can grow into a fully formed, deeply meaningful collection that continues my purpose in life.
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In Love with All of It
I love that whole creative process and while “love” perhaps isn’t the word, I’ve long since accepted that balance is a myth when it comes to this work because of my obsession with it.
It’s the price I willingly pay for the quiet-after-the-storm satisfaction, the tender relief of getting my inside stuff out, putting colour to my heartbeat.
I love that I get to do this. I love that it saved me. I love the purpose it gives me, and that it feels important. Vital, at least to me.
And I love that I’ve grown brave enough to share it all—the light, the dark, and everything in between—with you.
And so it goes.
The Epilogue: Love Found in the Darkness
"True love, I’m convinced, is found in the darkness" ~ Joy Bell
Painting is my saving grace, my lifeline, my candle in the night. It is my escape from the world, my safe place, my happy place.
It gives me reason to get up each morning. Picking up a brush pulled me back from the brink all those years ago and continues to do so, day after day. Painting saved me—and I am here because I paint.
It is my light. It lights my way and, hopefully, by sharing my heart through colour and joy, it lights the way for others too.
The love story continues.
