🌿 The Frustrating Breakthrough
As I sit writing this, my gaze keeps drifting toward the garden. It has become a quiet companion in my creative process—an anchor when I feel stuck, and an ever-changing palette that reminds me how beauty can emerge effortlessly when left to its own rhythm.
This morning, the usual squabble of starlings played out on the bird table. All of them seem to want the same spot—jostling, shoving, pushing each other aside in a flurry of feathers and impatience. It's oddly comical, but there's something familiar in their chaos too. It mirrors what can happen in my own mind when I’m wrestling with a piece of work. That constant internal noise of "not quite right" and the relentless need to fix, adjust, make better.
I’ve been working on a painting that has challenged me at every turn. The colours didn’t sit right, the layers felt overworked, and more than once I put it aside, convinced I’d never return to it. But of course, I did. Again and again. There was something in it I couldn’t let go of. And after all that struggle, I arrived at a point—not of perfection—but of acceptance. I’ve titled it ‘The Frustrating Breakthrough,’ which feels entirely appropriate. It might just be for my eyes only. And that’s okay. Some work is meant to stay private—quiet reminders of our process, not just our product.
What I find so fascinating is how different it is with nature. The colour combinations outside of my dining room feel so harmonious. A sea of green, punctuated by sudden, spontaneous bursts of colour—wildflowers, petals, even weeds—all coexisting without conflict. Nature doesn’t overthink it. It simply is. And perhaps that’s the lesson I’m trying to absorb.
In the coming weeks, my attention will shift to curating and working on a sculpture idea that’s been sitting quietly at the back of my mind. Something a little playful, a little quirky, returning to a more instinctive, intuitive way of making.
I often forget that frustration is part of the rhythm. The struggle, the sitting-with-it, the walking away and coming back again. Just like those starlings fighting for position, there’s often a scrappy little battle before something finally settles into place.
Until next time—may your own creative chaos find its rhythm too.
Christine
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