I’ve noticed that when I’m in between projects—or maybe on the edge of something new—I start collecting phrases. Little one-liners. Things people say in passing that somehow lodge themselves in my brain and echo back at me while I’m in the studio, or folding laundry, or driving.
These are a few that I keep returning to right now:
You can’t think yourself into being a better _____ (fill in the blank, painter for me).
My best friend Chloe said this casually the other day referring to her photography practice and it has not left me.
I think I’ve always believed (at least a little bit) that if I could just think hard enough—plan enough, reference enough, gather enough inspiration—I would arrive at the right idea. The kind of idea that makes the work feel inevitable. Clear. Good.
But the truth is… I don’t get better by thinking about painting.
I get better by painting.
By starting before I feel ready. By making something slightly off. By wasting a canvas. By surprising myself. By doing it again the next day.
Waiting for the perfect idea or the perfect timing or the perfect version of myself to show up in the studio is just a very convincing form of procrastination.
And honestly, I don’t want to be someone who only makes work when it feels perfect.
I want to be someone who makes a lot of work.
Use a lot of materials.
I recently met artist Mark Blaney—again, best friend Chloe curated a show of his work at my sister-in-law’s business—and I told him how struck I was by the volume of his work. The breadth of it. The permission it seemed to give itself.
He said something so simple:
“Don’t be scared to use supplies… and good ones.”
I loved that.
Because I think there’s this quiet tendency to conserve. To save the good paper, the better paint, the “nice” canvas for when the idea is worthy enough.
But what if the act of using the materials is what makes the idea better?
What if the good supplies aren’t something to earn—but something to move through?
There’s something really freeing about letting go of preciousness. About squeezing out more paint than you think you should. About not trying to stretch everything into permanence.
I keep repeating to myself: Use more. Make more. Trust that more will come.
Ambition without action becomes anxiety.
This one feels a little too real right now.
I’m in a season where I feel pulled in a lot of directions—motherhood, marriage, a busy social calendar, work, ideas, home, new projects, things I want to make, things I feel like I should be making.
And I’ve noticed that when I’m not actually doing the work—when I’m not prioritizing the creative part of my day—it doesn’t just sit quietly.
It turns into anxiety.
A low hum. A sense that I’m behind. That I’m missing something. That I’m not showing up fully.
I don’t have a perfect system for this yet. I’m still figuring out how to structure my days in a way that feels both productive and spacious. But I do know this: I feel better when I make something. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s imperfect. Even if no one sees it.
I’ll report back when I crack the schedule part.
Social media has turned the art of living into a performance.
I saw someone post this on Instagram (of course) and it stopped me in my tracks.
Because I could immediately see it in my own life.
The subtle shift from living something to framing it. From noticing something beautiful to wondering how it would look photographed. From experiencing a moment to slightly stepping outside of it.
I don’t think this is entirely bad.
There’s something really lovely about sharing, about documenting, about finding meaning in everyday life. It’s part of what I love about making art, too—paying attention.
But I do think it’s worth noticing.
Where does it enhance my life?
Where does it pull me out of it?
Where am I performing, even just a little?
And what would it feel like to keep more things just for myself?
My personal takeaways, feel free to steal:
Make more than you think.
Use what you have (especially the good stuff).
Do the work instead of circling it.
And pay attention to the difference between living and presenting.
I don’t think any of these are groundbreaking ideas. But they feel grounding to me right now.
xx
Alex
Flight, Mark Blaney