#23: Knowing When to Stop: Finding My Limits in the Studio
I love the studio. I love the feeling of total focus — when the paint flows, the hours vanish, and it’s just me and the canvas. That’s one of the purest joys I know: getting lost in the work, feeling like I’m in conversation with something that’s bigger than me.
But as much as I love the studio, I’m realising that the creative process doesn’t begin and end there. It’s supported — even shaped — by everything else in my life. And knowing when to stop, when to let myself step back and recharge, has become as important as knowing how to start.
The Pull to Keep Going
There’s a powerful momentum that comes with painting. Each mark on the canvas leads to the next, and there’s always that voice in my head saying: “Stay a bit longer, push a bit further.” And sometimes that’s exactly what I need. But other times, I’ve learned that staying too long can turn that momentum into something else — a kind of tightness that creeps into the work and leaves me drained.
It’s taken time to recognise the difference. To understand that more hours in the studio don’t always mean better paintings — or a better me.
Finding Energy in the Rest of Life
What’s surprised me most is how the parts of my life outside the studio are actually what keep the work alive. Time with people I care about, quiet moments to read or walk, the laughter and mess of daily life — they’re not distractions. They’re fuel.
Even the gym has become part of this balance. It reminds me that my body isn’t just a tool for holding a brush — it’s something that needs care and movement. That physical reset gives me a different kind of energy in the studio — more grounded, more open.
The Power of Stepping Back
Some of the most important parts of my process now happen outside the studio walls. When I walk away for the evening, I come back the next morning with clearer eyes. I see what’s working and what isn’t. And I can tell the difference between a painting that just needs a push, and one that needs me to leave it alone for a while.
That pause is where I remember why I paint in the first place. It’s where I remember that the work isn’t just about the canvas — it’s about the life around it.
Balance Isn’t Optional — It’s Essential
For a long time, I thought limits were a weakness. That if I was a “real” artist, I’d never stop. But I see now that those limits are what let me keep going. They’re what keep the work honest and alive. And they’re what let me bring all of myself — not just the tired, driven parts — to the canvas.
I still love those long, immersive days in the studio. I still crave them. But I’m learning to trust that the best work doesn’t come from ignoring everything else. It comes from listening. To the painting, to my body, to the people I love — and to the quiet truth that I don’t have to do it all in one stretch.
Because in the end, what I make in the studio is shaped by the life I live outside it. And that’s what makes it all feel real.
.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.