Putting It All Out There: The Beauty in the Unfinished
It can be daunting to put yourself out there—not so much when I’m focused and in the flow, painting something with intention. That doesn’t bother me anymore. Either people connect with it, or they don’t. What’s harder is sharing the sketches, the doodles, the half-finished thoughts. The things I make just because I’m bored, restless, to amuse self… too tired to commit to a big piece, but still needing to push paint around, scribble pencils and to be creative. Those spontaneous, half-baked ideas created just for the joy of doing something—those are harder to share.
I used to think they weren't “good enough.” That if I’d just given them more time or energy, they could’ve become something “better.” But here’s the thing: people love those parts of my work too. They connect with the rawness, the freedom, the honesty. And so, even when I’m unsure, I’m learning to share them anyway.
Just this week, I updated a photo on a painting’s store listing because I made a change to it—again. A painting is never truly finished, only abandoned. If it hasn’t sold, it’s at constant risk of being renamed, reworked, or entirely transformed.
But what I want to talk about more than the fear of showing those dusty, soulful fragments of work… is why I do it.
And it’s simple: creativity doesn’t happen in a vacuum.
I need to be out in the world—gathering experiences, sketching little moments, flinging ideas like mud to see what sticks. Not every piece is a masterpiece. Some are warm-ups, some are whispers of ideas to come. It’s like training for the Olympics—those rare paintings that just work seem effortless, but they’re built on countless playful sketches and messy experiments.
Being prolific isn’t just about producing constantly. It’s about having the desire to create, and allowing space for that desire to breathe. That means rest, balance, exploration. I have my tried-and-tested series, my evolving themes—but I also crave something new. So I pause. I scribble thumbnails, jot down conversations, sketch landscapes that caught my eye when I wasn’t in the studio.
A small fraction stored best I can with the space I have, much better stored on a wall of someone else who loves it as much, if not more than I do.
It’s all part of the process.
I love the messy bits—the scraps of paper, the ripped edges, ink spills, and masking tape stuck there for no reason other than being masking tape. Pristine white paper has never inspired me the way a crumpled, paint-smudged scrap does. And I’m grateful that others have started to see that not as a flaw, but part of the charm. This isn’t a fraud’s offering, adding prices to paper with chunks out of it—it’s a piece of me, rips and all.
And so, I’m slowly putting it all out there.
I’m slowly catching up with updating my store—turns out being prolific for decades before launching a website means I now have hundreds (maybe even thousands) of pieces to sort through! It’s going to take a while, but I’m getting there, one artwork at a time. While some will be difficult to let go of, I need to for the promise of a creative career but also to start a fresh and breath new life into the next chapter within my creative practice.
Thanks for being here, in the thick of it with me.
A5 archival box, also have A2 box, and A3 and A1 portfolio folders, shelves and more….
