I have studio time blocked out in my calendar. I want to paint. Mean to paint. Think about painting. Long to paint. And yet somehow, on some days, I still do not get into the studio.

Instead, I circle.

I check email one more time. I do a load of laundry because that suddenly feels essential. I rearrange art books. I look through my reference photos as though that counts as starting. I potter with the plants. I decide this may be the ideal time to pop out for groceries. If there were a cat nearby, I would certainly stop to pet it, because a cat always wants to snuggle. And if I had a dog, I could probably convince myself it needed another walk. And, you can never go wrong with baking muffins.

Meanwhile, there’s this low-level irritation humming away in the background because I know exactly what I’m doing. 

I’m avoiding the very thing I most want to do.

That is the maddening part, isn’t it? It is not as though I truly want to be tidying up or running errands, both of which I usually avoid at other times. I want to paint. The time is booked. The desire is there. And yet there I am, circling around the studio instead of walking into it and putting pastel to paper, pen to sketchbook, or paint to canvas.

If you know that feeling, you are not alone.

And if you have ever wondered why it can feel so hard to start painting – even when you really, really want to – then let’s talk about it.

Why do we avoid the thing we most want to do?

I think this question matters because when we keep circling the studio, it’s easy to make up all sorts of stories about ourselves. We tell ourselves we are procrastinating again, lacking discipline, wasting time, being ridiculous – perhaps even lazy.

But usually there’s more going on than that.

More often, I think, there’s friction – all the little pressures, doubts, decisions, expectations, and distractions that make it harder to begin.

In other words, the issue is often not a lack of desire. It’s everything that gets in the way of desire turning into action.

Often, we’re not avoiding painting – we’re avoiding disappointment

For many artists, this is the heart of it.

We tell ourselves we are going into the studio to paint, but what we often really mean is that we are going in there to make something good. Something worthwhile. Something successful. Maybe even something brilliant.

That’s a lot to ask of one studio session.

And it creates pressure before you’ve even begun!

Sometimes we’re not avoiding painting itself. We’re avoiding the possibility of doing it badly – and the disappointment that comes with that. We’re avoiding proof that perhaps we are not as good as we want to be.

That’s a heavy burden to carry through the studio door.

It’s no wonder we avoid it!

But pressure isn’t the only thing waiting for us there. Sometimes the real obstacle is not fear of disappointment, but the sheer number of decisions standing between us and a start.

Sometimes the hardest part is deciding where to begin

What will I paint? Which reference photo? What size? What surface? What colours? Should I continue something old or begin something new? Should I sketch? Experiment? Finish? Play? Work seriously?

Painting asks a great deal of us mentally. There are so many decisions involved, and if you’re already a little tired, distracted, or stretched, even small choices can feel surprisingly hard.

Decision overwhelm is one of the most common reasons artists stall out before they even start.

It’s way easier to go make a cup of coffee than to choose between twelve possible ideas.

And even when we’ve made some of those decisions, there’s often another thought waiting for us: “I just don’t have the time right now.”

Sometimes we tell ourselves there’s no point starting

This one is sneaky. We say, “I don’t have enough time to paint.”

And sometimes, indeed, time is tight.

But often what we really mean is this:

I don’t have enough time for the version of the painting I think I should be doing.

In other words, if the only version of painting that “counts” is a full, focused, meaningful session resulting in something substantial, then of course twenty minutes does not feel like enough. Ten minutes certainly doesn’t feel like enough. A quick sketch feels almost pointless.

So we do nothing.

But doing nothing is often far more damaging to the rhythm of an art practice than doing something small.

Underneath all of this – the pressure, the indecision, the time stories – is another truth: painting asks a lot of us.

Painting asks a lot of you

Art-making is joyful, absorbing, meaningful work.

And it can also be hard work.

There’s emotional investment in it. Mental investment. Physical effort. Creative risk. Frustration. Uncertainty. Problem-solving. Starting and stopping and beginning again. So to even start painting is hard.

Sometimes I think we resist because part of us knows this. Even if we cannot quite name it, we know that the act of painting asks a lot of us.

And once we understand some of what makes starting feel hard, we can begin to make it easier.

Sometimes the answer is not bigger effort, but a smaller beginning

If you’re wondering how to start painting more consistently, I don’t think the answer is to push harder.

More often, the answer is to make the beginning smaller.

Walk into the room.
Put on the apron.
Tape down the paper.
Lay out the pastels.

Tell yourself, “I’m not painting yet. I’m just setting up”.

You’re not demanding brilliance from yourself. You’re simply taking one physical step towards the work. And often, that’s enough to get you over the studio threshold.

Next, lower the bar.

• Do one blind contour.
• Make two or three thumbnails.
• Open a sketchbook page and play with paint
• Spend ten minutes making colour swatches.

All valuable. All small.

You’re not committing to a masterpiece. You’re committing to showing up.

And that matters more than many artists realise.

And of course, beginning is easier when you’re not starting from scratch every single time.

Give your future self a running start

A blank start is often the real problem.

It’s one thing to return to a piece of work that’s already in motion. It’s another thing entirely to arrive in the studio feeling as though you have to invent the whole thing from scratch.

So do not make your future self begin from nothing.

Keep a “paint next” list. Capture ideas when they arrive instead of trusting yourself to remember them later. That might be a notebook, a sketchbook full of thumbnails, a folder of printed references, or an album on your phone called “Paint Next.”

And at the end of a session, leave yourself a breadcrumb.

Choose tomorrow’s reference. Sketch up the drawing. Write yourself a note about a current piece: “Push the darks.” “Grey that area.” “Add colour accents.”

Leave yourself an invitation to return.

If you want to know how to start painting without that familiar drag of resistance, this kind of preparation helps enormously.

Because perhaps what we need is not to push ourselves harder, but to make it easier to begin.

You don’t need more discipline. You need less friction

I think many of us assume the answer is to become more disciplined. More rigorous. More determined. Better behaved somehow.

But perhaps what you actually need is not more force.

Perhaps you need fewer obstacles.

Fewer decisions.

Less pressure.

A smaller beginning.

A clearer next step.

That is very different from standing at the studio door telling yourself to try harder.

The goal is not to bully yourself into painting. The goal is to make showing up easier.

And sometimes one of the easiest ways to make showing up easier is not to do it entirely on your own.

Momentum is easier to find in company

Sometimes what we need is borrowed momentum.

Encouragement helps. Accountability helps. Deadlines help. Challenges help. A rhythm helps. Community helps.

Showing up is often easier when you are not doing it alone. 

When other artists are making, experimenting, sharing, and returning to the work too, it becomes easier to do the same. Not magically easy, perhaps. But easier.

There’s something deeply reassuring about being reminded that you are not the only one who struggles. Not the only one circling. Not the only one trying to find your way back in.

And perhaps all of this comes back to one simple idea.

Make showing up easier

If I could gather all of this into one thought, it would be this:

The answer is usually not to wait until you feel more ready, more confident, more inspired, or more disciplined.

It is to make showing up easier.

Lower the pressure. Reduce the friction.

And let that be enough.

Because painting does not always begin with a grand burst of inspiration.

Sometimes it begins with putting on the apron.

Sometimes it begins with one thumbnail.

Sometimes it begins with one line.

And sometimes that’s all it takes.

Until next time,

~ Gail