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.

How to Find Your Art Style When You Like Too Many Things

(And Why Liking Many Things Is Not the Problem)

My “Poppy Milk” mini collection from 2025

If you’ve ever thought, “I like too many things , I guess I’ll never find my art style,” I want you to take a breath right now.

Because what if the problem isn’t that you like too many things…
What if the problem is that you’ve been taught the wrong order?

For a long time, I believed I needed to figure out my style first before I could put myself out into the world as an artist. Before I could show my work. Before I could pursue licensing, illustration, or meaningful opportunities.

And without realizing it, finding my style became a barrier between me and actually doing the work.

That belief quietly feeds perfectionism.
It delays momentum.
And it keeps artists endlessly “preparing” instead of participating.

If that sounds familiar, this post is for you.

When “Finding Your Style” Becomes a Trap

Here’s something I don’t hear talked about enough:

A huge part of discovering your style doesn’t happen in private.

It happens after you put your work out into the world.

It happens when:

• You notice which pieces people respond to (and which they don’t)

• You feel into what doesn’t feel aligned anymore

• You receive feedback, even neutral or confusing feedback

• You realize what’s missing from your portfolio

• You see patterns in what you keep returning to

You can’t get that information by waiting until everything feels perfect.

And yet, many artists treat style like a gatekeeper:

“Once I figure this out, then I’ll be ready.”

In my experience, it’s the opposite.

Readiness comes from repetition, exposure, and choice, not certainty.

Liking Many Things Doesn’t Mean You’re Unfocused

For a long time, I interpreted my wide range of interests as a flaw.

I love:

• Gouache and mixed media

• Digital illustration and surface design

• Animals, women, florals

• Mythical, whimsical, storybook worlds

• Minimal, chic aesthetics and rich, narrative depth

• Children’s books and licensing art for everyday objects

At one point, all of that felt like evidence that I lacked direction.

Now I see it differently.

Liking many things usually means:

• You have a wide field of vision

• You’re sensitive to nuance

• You’re capable of world-building, not just one-off images

• You’re meant to work relationally, not narrowly

It doesn’t mean you lack direction.
It means you need cohesion, not restriction.

The Shift That Changed Everything: Working in Collections

The biggest breakthrough in my creative process came when I stopped asking:

“What is my style?”

And started asking:

“What story am I telling, and how can these pieces belong together?”

Working in collections changed everything.

Before that, I created mostly one-off pieces:

• Intuitive bursts of inspiration

• Beautiful moments, but disconnected

• Little momentum

• No clear throughline for my audience (or myself)

Once I began working in collections, clarity followed naturally.

Not because I forced a style, but because I made consistent choices.

My Current Framework (You Can Borrow This)

Here’s the simple framework I use now:

Theme → Constraints → Story → Exploration

Instead of waiting for inspiration to strike perfectly, I begin with structure that still allows play.

1. Start with a Theme

This might be:

• A place (the woods, a village, the night)

• A concept (time of day, seasons, mythology)

• A feeling (quiet magic, nostalgia, wonder)

Right now, my Patreon collection Moonrise Menagerie is built around woodland settings, mythic animals, and the progression of time across a single day.

2. Add Constraints (This Is Where Style Begins)

Constraints reduce pressure and increase cohesion.

The things I consciously limit:

• Color palette (this is always my doorway in)

• Location or setting

• Tools & materials (very limited brushes or media)

• Motifs (animals, flowers, stars, repeated symbols)

• Texture & line weight

When you remove infinite options, your preferences start to speak.

3. Let the Story Lead

Instead of asking, “Am I good enough?”
I ask, “What am I trying to give?”

That shift moves the focus:

• Away from self-judgment

• Toward connection

• Toward the viewer’s experience

Story creates momentum. Style follows.

4. Keep Composition Flexible

I intentionally leave room for play.

I might have a loose idea, but I allow:

• Accidents

• Discoveries

• Adjustments mid-process

Some of my strongest moments happen because I didn’t over-plan.

Why This Quietly Teaches You Your Style

Style isn’t a single decision.

It’s the accumulation of small preferences repeated consistently.

Over time, I noticed:

• I reach for the same tools because my hand responds well to them

• I layer color in a specific order

• I return to warmth, softness, and gentle symbolism

• Stars, woodland elements, and nurturing tones appear again and again

I didn’t force these choices.
They emerged because I stayed with the work longer.

That’s the real secret.

What Changed Emotionally When I Stopped “Picking the Right Thing”

I became:

• More relaxed

• More confident

• Less afraid of feedback

• More willing to share imperfect work

Feedback became a friend, not a threat.

A “no” stopped feeling like rejection and started feeling like information.

And information builds discernment.

If You Love Too Many Things, Try This This Week

Here are a few gentle, practical starting points:

✨ Option 1: Split the Playground

Give each style its own container:

• One sketchbook for minimalist/decorative work

• One sketchbook for story-driven illustration

Let each space be cohesive on its own.

✨ Option 2: Repeat One Subject Three Times

Draw the same subject:

• In three styles

• Or with three color palettes

• Or using three tools

Notice which version feels the most alive in your body.

✨ Option 3: Stay With One Piece Longer

Instead of starting something new:

• Recreate it again

• Adjust one variable

• Refine, don’t abandon

Repetition builds confidence faster than novelty.

Style Is a Byproduct, Not the Starting Point

If there’s one thing I want you to remember, it’s this:

Style comes from consistent choices made in motion, not from waiting until you feel ready.

You don’t need to choose one love.
You need to choose a container.

And then let your preferences reveal themselves.

Want to Watch This Process Unfold in Real Time?

Inside my Patreon, I’m currently building an ongoing collection called Moonrise Menagerie: a year-long series exploring woodland worlds, mythic animals, and the subtle magic of time passing.

If you join before the end of February, you’ll receive:

• The February postcard and/or sticker

• Behind-the-scenes process

• How I make cohesive choices without forcing style

If you love woods, magic, and watching a world come together piece by piece, you’ll feel right at home.

Come along for the journey here!

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.