Why Trusting Your Art Process Is So Hard (And What to Do When You Can't See the Outcome Yet)

See? You would never know that I dripped ink all over his face!

This week, I ruined a painting. Or at least, that's what it felt like in the moment.

I was working on an owl butterfly hybrid, a barn owl face painted over India ink, with washes of watercolor and gouache layered on top. The ink is my base layer. It's a process I love. And then, right in the middle of the face (which is supposed to be almost white, the way barn owls are), a big splash of black ink landed exactly where I didn't want it.

I couldn't wipe it up. India ink is immediate and permanent on paper. So I had to make a choice: panic, tear the page out, start over, or trust the process and keep going.

I kept going. I filled in the rest of the face with the dark ink, reminded myself that gouache is opaque (it can cover anything), and decided to see what happened.

What happened is that it became one of the moodiest, most atmospheric pieces I've made. The dark underlayer gave it depth. It enhanced the evening feeling I was going for, something I couldn't have planned if I tried.

But here's the thing: I could only trust the process because I knew something. I knew gouache could cover it. I knew the ink would add depth. I had enough experience to take the leap.

What do you do when you don't have that certainty? What do you do when you're in the middle and you genuinely cannot predict the outcome?

The Middle Is Genuinely Unpredictable (And That's Not a Personal Flaw)

I want to be honest with you about something, because I think a lot of artist advice glosses over this part: trusting the process doesn't mean you know how it ends. It means you stay in it anyway, without that guarantee.

Right now, I'm working toward licensing my artwork. And there are weeks where I feel completely aligned, clear on my direction, energized, confident. And then there are weeks where I'm scrolling, comparing, questioning whether any of this is actually going anywhere.

The thought that lands hardest during those doubt-weeks isn't loud or dramatic. It's quiet and it sounds educated. It sounds like: what if no one wants this? What if I can't actually make a living doing this?

That thought brings exhaustion with it. And the exhaustion can start to feel like a signal, like maybe it's your nervous system telling you something is wrong. But I've started to wonder if exhaustion in the middle might actually be a sign that you are working toward something real. Something that matters enough to scare you.

What "Trusting the Process" Actually Requires

I used to think trusting the process was a mindset thing, like if I believed hard enough, the doubt would go away. It doesn't work like that, at least not for me.

What I've found is that trust isn't the absence of doubt. It's showing up in the presence of it.

With my painting, I trusted the process because I had a technical foundation to lean on. I knew what gouache could do. In the bigger picture of building a creative career, the equivalent of that technical foundation is consistency. Every day I show up and make something, I'm adding to what I know. I'm sharpening my eye. I'm expanding what I'm capable of. I'm building a body of work that compounds over time.

The process only works if you stay in it long enough for it to work. And staying in it is the hard part, especially when you are squarely in the middle and the outcome is genuinely unknown.

Rejection as Direction, Not Verdict

Something has shifted in me around rejection lately. It doesn't feel as final as it used to.

A "no" tells me something. It makes me look closer at my work. It makes me tighten, refine, and adjust. It's uncomfortable, genuinely uncomfortable, but it's also useful information. Like the splash of black ink: it doesn't mean the painting is ruined. It means I have to find a new way through.

I think the artists who make it are not the ones who avoid rejection. They're the ones who learn to read it differently. Not as a verdict on their worth, but as a signal about direction.

When You Feel Like You've Ruined Everything: A Practical Reset

When I hit that moment in a painting where I'm sure I've destroyed it, I've learned to do one thing: walk away. Sometimes I move to another piece. Sometimes I sleep on it. And almost always, when I come back with fresh eyes, I can see the path forward.

The "ruin" is almost never actual ruin. It's usually over-focus. It's my brain being too close to the work for too long.

The same is true in bigger creative seasons. If you're feeling like everything is falling apart or stalling out, it's worth asking: when did I last actually step back? Not quit, just breathe. Reset your nervous system. Come back with distance.

Exhaustion can masquerade as failure. Confusion can masquerade as incompetence. Give yourself the chance to tell the difference before you make any decisions about stopping.

If You're in the Middle Right Now

If you're applying and hearing nothing back. If you're creating consistently but can't see the traction yet. If you're doubting whether your work is good enough, or whether you started too late, or whether anyone actually wants what you're making, I want to say this clearly:

The middle is supposed to feel like this. It is not a sign you are doing it wrong.

You cannot see the outcome from inside the process. That's not a flaw in you, it's just the nature of the middle. The barn owl face was solid black before it was a moody, atmospheric painting. You can't always know what something is becoming while it's still being made.

What I know is that I'm still here. Still painting, still applying, still refining, still showing up on the days when I can't see where it's going. And I believe, genuinely, that the showing up is what builds the path. Not before you walk it. While you walk it.

Keep going, beautiful soul.

If You Want to Watch the Shaping in Real Time

I share this whole stage inside my Patreon, the works in progress, the portfolio building, the experimenting, the refining. It's not polished. It's honest. And if you're building something too, I think you'd feel right at home there.

And if you're feeling lost in the woods right now and need help reconnecting with your North Star, the Starlight Dream Lab is a beautiful place to begin. It's where we do the deeper work of remembering what you're actually building toward.

Moonrise Menagerie: A Year of Magic in the Making

The official poster for Moonrise Menagerie

Every year, I love to begin with intention and this year, I’m setting that intention through art.

Let me introduce you to Moonrise Menagerie: a twelve-part collection unfolding month by month on Patreon in 2026. Each painting will be a gentle portal: a woodland scene that combines one animal, one flower, and a specific time of day. Together, they’ll tell a story of cycles, symbols, and quiet moments of connection.

If you’ve followed my work for a while, you know that I don’t just paint pictures, I also channel messages. These aren’t just animals or plants plucked at random. Every combination is intentional, and each one holds a message. I want every image to feel like the universe whispering something personal and timely to you. That’s the heart of this series:
✨ magic that meets you where you are.

Why “Moonrise Menagerie”?

I’m a lover of alliteration, and this phrase floated to me almost like a spell.
“Moonrise” felt right because it signals something rising gently, an ongoing story, a light that emerges through the dark, a rhythm we can feel but not control.
“Menagerie” brings the sense of a magical collection of beings. Each one holds mythic energy and presence. It feels alive.

What You’ll Find in Each Chapter

Each month in Moonrise Menagerie features:

• A woodland-inspired scene

• One animal guide

• One seasonal or symbolic flower

• A specific time of day (sunrise, moonrise, twilight, etc.)

Every combination is designed to:

• Spark the imagination

• Activate a sense of symbolic resonance

• Remind you that the natural world is full of meaning

The themes are personal to me, but universal in spirit. This is a story you can find yourself inside of.

A Teaser for January: “Starlight Hour”

We begin our year in the far north, in the stillness of Alaska’s boreal forest. The first chapter takes place in Starlight Hour: that deep, quiet time when the sky turns its darkest blue and the stars feel closest.

There’s a special animal and flower that live in this place and I can’t wait to share them with my patrons first. You’ll see the full reveal there, along with a channeled note, a tiny palette card, and more behind-the-scenes peeks.

How to Join the Adventure

The first sticker and postcard mailers go out at the end of January.
If you join a mail tier before January 31, you’ll receive:

• January’s original postcard print

• A matching sticker

• Access to WIPs, lore, swatch cards, and gentle surprises all year long

✨ Patreon is the only way to collect the full Moonrise Menagerie.
You’ll be able to see the full set grow month by month—culminating in a complete 12-part journey by the end of the year.

Join Patreon here →
Or hop on the Art & Soul Journal email list to follow the journey.

A Final Thought

More than anything, this collection is about remembering your inner world and reconnecting to nature’s quiet invitations. These aren’t just paintings. They’re conversations with your soul.

Whether you collect the series or simply follow along, I hope Moonrise Menagerie brings a bit more beauty, wonder, and intentionality to your year.

The Power of a Creative Reset: Why I’m Reshaping My Patreon for 2026

2025 Sketchbook practice of Mary Blair inspired art.

I’ve always had a bit of a “jump first, figure it out as I go” pattern in my creative life, and that’s definitely been true of my Patreon. I’m the kind of artist who learns by doing, which means that each year I’ve learned something new about what it means to not only make art, but to share it in a way that feels aligned with my values and with my audience.

This year, I’m implementing one of the biggest shifts yet and it’s already starting to feel like a complete energetic upgrade.

A Fresh Approach (and a Beautiful Source of Inspiration)

Recently, I came across an incredible artist on Instagram, @rayleearts , who shared how she structures her Patreon around an annual theme. Each month becomes a new chapter in that theme, and by the end of the year, she’s built a cohesive 12-month body of work. Even more brilliant? She turns those pieces into a calendar, so the story lives on in a tangible form.

This clicked something into place for me.

As much as I’ve loved offering spontaneous rewards, I realized something was missing: cohesion.

A unifying theme. A guiding thread. Something for my patrons to follow along with, and something for me to grow with, too.

What’s Staying (and What’s Changing)

The rewards themselves ( stickers, & postcards) aren’t going anywhere. But in 2026, they’ll all live within a single magical, whimsical, seasonally-aligned theme. I won’t spoil it here (my patrons will hear it first, of course), but I can tell you this: it’s full of charm, storytelling, and wonder.

Even though I’m a little nervous (I’ve never created a full 12-piece collection before) I’m also incredibly excited. I want this to be a year where I build something I’m deeply proud of, piece by piece, with my patrons right there beside me.

More Than a Collection, It’s a Journey

In the past, my offerings were more like a “pick-and-mix” so each month was unique and often unrelated to the last. This new structure creates a much clearer experience for everyone involved. You’ll still be surprised by the details, but the direction will feel beautifully grounded.

If you fall in love with the first piece of the year, you’ll love the journey we’re about to take together.

I’ve learned that people connect to what they can follow. As a creator, I used to focus on novelty like what’s next, what’s different, what haven’t I tried yet? But this year, I want to focus on depth. I want to bring you into the process with me. I want this year to feel like we’re co-travelers through a magical little world, not just visitors passing through.

Want to Join Me?

If you want to be part of this year-long journey and collect each piece as it’s released, join me on Patreon especially before January 31st, 2026. You’ll be the first to know what the new theme is, and you’ll receive limited-edition monthly rewards that won’t be offered anywhere else.

You can also sign up for my Art & Soul mailing list here where I’ll be sharing what happens after each piece debuts on Patreon. (Hint: some of them may take on new life in ways you won’t want to miss.)

This year, I’m not just making art — I’m building a story. And I’d love for you to be part of it.

Why I Believe My Art Has a Soul Mission

“Ascension to New Earth” fly Therese Tucker rom my 2020 Ascension Collection.

Some art is made to impress. Some to provoke.
Mine is here to connect souls.

For years now, I’ve been aware that my art has a deeper purpose. Not every piece starts with a grand spiritual idea, in fact, many of them begin with a simple sketch, a playful moment, or a color I can’t stop thinking about. But time and time again, when a piece makes its way out into the world, I end up having an experience that reminds me: this art is a vessel for something much bigger than me.

One of the most vivid examples of this was back in 2013, when I released a collection called Oceana. Every painting in that collection carried a channeled message, hidden in a sealed envelope, meant only for the person who would one day own the piece. Those messages weren’t written with marketing in mind. They were direct transmissions from Source energy, and the people who received them were deeply moved. Some said they felt like soul family had spoken directly to them through the painting.

That’s when I really understood:
my art is a bridge between the physical and non-physical.
A portal for remembering. A tool for reawakening something sacred.

What My Art Is Really Here to Do

I believe the deeper mission of my art is to create connection between the viewer and their higher self, between this world and the unseen world, between us and the soul family we may not even know we’re missing.

Sometimes the pieces carry soothing energy.
Sometimes they spark contemplation.
Sometimes they feel like a transmission or a quiet download from beyond the veil.

Whatever the reaction, I hope people feel a sense of grounding, beauty, and divine presence through what I make. Even if I’m just painting a fox or an otter, my hope is that it acts like a tuning fork, helping the viewer shift into a slightly higher frequency.

I Am Not the Source of My Art—I Am the Channel

My process is deeply intuitive. I often feel like I’m just the brush being held by something greater. Characters arrive in dreams. Composition ideas download in meditation. Sometimes I even receive step-by-step tutorials in my dream state, and once, I asked my higher self to rewind and slow down the dream so I could follow along—and it worked.

This co-creative experience is something I trust implicitly now. Even when I don’t understand why I’m painting what I’m painting, I’ve come to learn that it always finds its right home, with the right message, for the right person.

What Others Reflect Back to Me

One of the most beautiful parts of sharing my art is hearing what people see or feel when they experience it. Sometimes they’ll tell me that the colors I used hold spiritual significance for them. Other times, they’ll tell me the piece reminded them of a dream they had or a loved one who passed.

That kind of resonance isn’t logical. It’s energetic.
It’s proof that art can hold frequency.

What Art Has Given Me

For me, art has always been a sacred self-regulating tool. When I make art, it feels like a brain massage and a way to soothe my nervous system, calm the inner critic, and reconnect with what matters most. It’s helped me process grief. It’s helped me feel joy when I thought I had forgotten how.

Art is where my spirit and body come back into alignment.

The Characters That Are Finding Me

Lately, I’ve been drawn to woodland animals as well cats, otters, swans and I know I’m on the edge of discovering a whole new mythical world through them. I don’t think I’m meant to draw creatures that already exist in mythology. I think I’m here to channel new ones. Creatures that feel ancient and familiar, but entirely my own.

That world is starting to populate in the background. I can feel it. It’s coming.

I Believe We Are All Creator Beings

We were made in the image of Source… not just physically, but energetically. That means we were born to create. Whether we make art, gardens, music, meals, or homes, we are vessels for divine expression.

When I remind myself that I am a channel, not the source, I relax. I let go of ego and fear. I open. And from that place, the most meaningful work flows through.

How I Support Other Artists & Dreamers

If you’re reading this and you feel like you have a big dream but can’t quite reach it, or if you feel like something sacred is trying to express through you, but you’re not sure how to begin, I want to invite you into the spaces I’ve created for that exact purpose:

💫 The Starlight Dream Lab — A free tool to help you distill your big soul-aligned dream and receive your North Star.

🪐 Patreon — Follow along with my art journey in real time. See how my mythical world takes shape, and get early access to exclusive prints, stickers, and behind-the-scenes shares.

🌟 Epic Year Express — A self-paced version of my Epic Year Workshop, helping you turn your soul-aligned dream into a practical, step-by-step strategy rooted in your personal frequency.

Final Thought: If You Feel It, It’s Already Real

If you’re an artist, or a creative of any kind, and you’ve ever felt like your work might have a mission, I want to say this to you:

If you can feel it… it’s real.
If you’ve seen it in your mind… it’s meant for you.
If you’re doubting it, it means you care deeply.

And if you need support? I’m here.
Let’s build soul-led dreams together.