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!

How Creating Art in Collections Helps You Find Your Style (Without Forcing It)

Pieces from my Botanical Beasties Collection 2025.

For a long time, I thought my art style was something I was supposed to discover like it was hiding somewhere just out of reach.

I believed that once I figured out my style, everything else would fall into place. That it would lead to my confidence, and clarity, giving me a sense of direction. I wanted the feeling of finally knowing what I was doing.

But what I’ve learned, through years of creating, experimenting, doubting, recommitting, and showing up anyway, is that style isn’t something you find first. It’s something that forms while you’re busy making meaningful work.

And for me, the biggest shift didn’t come from trying harder to “define” my style.

It came when I started creating in collections.

When Art Is Intuitive… but Scattered

Before I worked in collections, my creative process looked like this:

Inspiration would strike.
I’d make a piece.
I’d love the act of creating it.
Then I’d move on to the next idea.

As an intuitive, right-brained artist, this felt natural. Magical, even.

But over time, something felt off.

When I looked at my work as a whole, it felt scattered and disconnected. Like a series of beautiful moments that didn’t quite speak to each other.

And more importantly, I had no real sense of what my audience wanted from me.

It turned out, I didn’t lack creativity or even skill, I was actually lacking continuity.

Why Style Feels So Elusive When You’re Making One-Off Pieces

Here’s something I wish more artists talked about:

When you only create one-off pieces, you never stay with an idea long enough for your style to reveal itself.

Style doesn’t come from a single piece.
It comes from repeated choices.

When every artwork starts from scratch (with new colors, new tools, new moods, new methods) you don’t give your instincts time to deepen. You’re always beginning again.

Working in collections changed that for me completely.

What Creating Collections Gave Me (That I Didn’t Expect)

When I committed to telling a story over multiple pieces, something surprising happened:

I stopped obsessing over whether my work was “good enough.”

Instead, I started asking better questions:

• What connects these pieces?

• What feeling do I want someone to have when they see them together?

• What choices need to stay consistent so the story makes sense?

And quietly, without forcing anything, my style began to emerge.

Not because I chased it, but because I stayed with something long enough to understand it.

Why Collections Reduce the Pressure of “Finding Your Style”

Here’s the revelatory part most artists don’t hear:

Style is a byproduct of consistency, not a prerequisite for it.

When you work in collections, your focus shifts from:

“What am I good at?”

to:

“What am I trying to give?”

You start by gathering:

• a limited color palette

• a recurring subject or motif

• a setting or world

• an emotional tone

• a loose narrative arc

Suddenly, it’s no longer about proving yourself, instead It’s about serving the story.

And in serving the story, your preferences start to repeat themselves:

• the same brushes

• the same tools

• the same layering order

• the same line weight

• the same kinds of shapes

• the same color relationships

That repetition is style.

Style Is Not Just Something That Happens, It’s Also a Choice

This was another big realization for me:

Yes, style develops through practice.
But style also develops through decision-making.

Every time you choose:

• which tools you use

• which ones you don’t

• which colors you return to

• which processes feel natural to your hands

…you are actively shaping your style.

Working in collections made this visible.

Instead of experimenting endlessly, I started committing to a small set of choices and letting those choices teach me who I am as an artist.

My Doorway Into Every Collection: Color

Everyone has a doorway.

Mine is color.

Color is how I enter a story.
It’s how I feel my way forward.

Before I think about technique or polish, I ask:

What colors belong in this world?

Limiting my palette was the first thing that made my work feel cohesive.

If you’re just starting a collection, I always recommend this:

• Choose 7 colors or fewer

• Or even start with just 2–3

You’ll be amazed how quickly everything begins to speak the same language.

Real Examples From My Recent Collections

When I created my Christmas Village (Tinseltown 2025):

• every building shared the same palette

• every scene included people and dogs

• the background texture was reused across pieces

With Scary & Sweet:

• Victorian wallpaper

• oval frames

• named characters

• a portrait-gallery feel (think Haunted Mansion)

And now with Moonrise Menagerie on Patreon:

• woodland settings

• animals + flowers

• a mythic tone

• and each piece representing a different time of day

Each collection taught me something new, not by accident, but by design.

One of the Biggest Gifts of Working in Collections

Here’s something I didn’t expect:

It made self-critique easier and kinder.

When a piece felt off, it was obvious why.
And because it was part of a larger whole, fixing it felt constructive instead of personal.

Collections turn criticism into curiosity.

They help you ask:

What does this piece need to belong here?

If You’re Struggling With Style, Start Here

If you remember only one thing from this post, let it be this:

Style is a byproduct. Not the starting point.

If you want to begin:

• Start with a 3-piece mini collection

• Choose one motif

• Choose a limited color palette

• Let repetition teach you

Consistency builds confidence.
Confidence builds clarity.
Clarity builds style.

Want to See This Process in Real Time?

Inside my Patreon, I’m currently creating a year-long collection called Moonrise Menagerie and sharing my decisions, missteps, revisions, and breakthroughs as they happen.

If you want to:

• watch a collection unfold from the inside

• understand how cohesive bodies of work are built

• and see how style emerges through story

👉 Join me on Patreon and follow the journey from the very beginning.