#26: The Good Studio Days / When It Just Works

There are days in the studio that feel like magic. Not loud, glittering magic — just something subtle and steady that settles in, almost unnoticed. The brush moves like it knows where it’s going. The colours land just right. The distractions drop away, and everything feels... right.

They don’t come often. But when they do, they remind me exactly why I do this. I’ve had a few of these recently.

No Explanation, Just Flow

The strange thing about the good studio days is that I never quite know why they happen. It’s not always when I’m well-rested or well-planned. Sometimes I walk in feeling ordinary, even unsure — and something just clicks. The first mark leads to the second. The hesitation quiets. I get caught up in the rhythm of it, and hours pass before I even look at the clock.

It’s not about making a masterpiece. It’s about feeling something shift — like I’ve tuned in to a frequency I didn’t even know I was missing.

When the Studio Feels Like a Friend

On those days, the studio stops being a workspace and starts feeling like a friend. It welcomes me. The light falls just right, the paint does what I ask of it (mostly), and I’m not second-guessing every decision. It’s not about confidence — more about connection. To the work, to the moment, to myself.

And when that connection shows up, even briefly, I try to notice it. To let it soak in. Because I know how rare it is, and how quickly the mood can change.

You Can’t Force It

I wish I could bottle those days. Recreate them on demand. But the truth is, they come when they want to. They show up when I’m not chasing them. That’s one of the trickiest parts of making art: you can show up, prepare the space, do everything “right” — and still, some days, the work won’t meet you there.

And then, suddenly, it does.

Remembering the Feeling

When the difficult days come — and they do — I try to remember these moments. The ease. The lightness. The sense of being part of something instead of fighting it. It doesn’t make the hard days less hard, but it gives them context. It reminds me that the process has seasons, and no one season lasts forever.

Sometimes, all I need is a little proof that it can feel like this again. And when it does, even just for a morning, I carry it with me for days.

The Quiet Joy of Progress

Not every good day in the studio is dramatic. Often, it’s not about a big breakthrough. It’s about the steady, quiet joy of something coming together. A painting taking shape. A colour that finally works. A decision that lands just right.

And when I leave the studio on those days — brain buzzing — I feel something very close to peace. Like I was exactly where I needed to be.

.M.

Be real.

Make art.

If you’d like to learn more about my creative process or see my latest work, feel free to reach out or check out the rest of my website.