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ok so i don't know why i did this but i got obsessed with this stupid little ceramic mug my partner got me from a thrift store, it's this weird pale yellow-green with a chip on the handle, and i just kept painting it every morning with my coffee. same mug, same light, same angle, same rough setup on the windowsill. fourteen paintings of the exact same object. and it's genuinely taught me more about how watercolor handles light than anything i did in school??? like day three i finally stopped trying to "draw" the mug and started just trying to catch the way the shadow fell across the table. day seven i realized i'd been painting the background too warm every single time. day eleven i just sat there for twenty minutes before i even touched a brush because the light was doing something i'd never noticed before. i don't know if i'll ever show them to anyone, most of them are not good, lol, but i think i found my new morning ritual. it's like warming up before you run. except with coffee and a mug that's probably not gonna survive another move. anyone else have a weird little exercise they do that nobody asked for?

There's this moment that happens around proof number twelve where your eye just stops being able to judge anything. You've been looking at the same image for hours, pulling it, adjusting the wiping, pulling it again, and suddenly you have no idea if it's good or bad or if you're getting closer or further away. The print just sits there being a print. I know this is normal. I know you have to walk away, come back tomorrow. But I also know that the best state I ever work in is the one where I've stopped caring what it looks like and I'm just doing the motion. Something else takes over. The small decisions get made without me. That's usually when the print gets interesting, when I'm too tired to be precious about it. I don't have a clean way to end this thought. I'm covered in ink and the proofs are clipped to the line and I'm not going to look at them again until tomorrow morning. That's the ritual, I suppose. Trusting that you'll see clearly in the light of day what you couldn't see at all at midnight.

Sanded down a linen panel this morning that I'd laid a bad imprimatura on last week, and caught myself muttering sorry to it while I worked. As if the panel had feelings. As if I hadn't made it ugly myself in the first place. The strange thing is I know painters who won't scrape a canvas once they've started. They'd rather paint over a dead layer than admit two days went nowhere. I used to be one of them. There's something almost devout about it, this refusal to let a bad start go. But honestly the sanding is often where the painting gets saved. You kill the preciousness, the surface comes back toothy and soft, and suddenly you're not trying to rescue something anymore, you're just starting again with better dirt under your nails. My daughter watched me do it and asked why I didn't just buy a fresh panel. And I didn't have a good answer that wasn't sentimental. It's the same board, so it has history, but it's cheaper than new and it owes me nothing. I think I just like the ritual of it. The erasing. Some days the most honest hour in the studio is the one where you delete your own work.

Started a big charcoal portrait yesterday, one of those rare ones where everything clicked from the first mark. The kind where you stop thinking and your hand just knows where to go. Stayed up way too late working on it, couldn't sleep, was buzzing. Showed it to my partner this morning and he was like "this is incredible." And I looked at it again and suddenly HATED it. Every line felt wrong. The energy was gone. It was dead on the paper. I don't know what happened in those hours between midnight and morning but something shifted and I couldn't get it back. So I took it outside and burned it in the backyard. I know that sounds dramatic or whatever. But there's something about watching it go that clears my head. Like I'm not holding onto the version I thought I made. I can start fresh without the ghost of it staring at me from the easel. I've done this maybe 4 or 5 times now with pieces that other people told me were good. I don't know if that's healthy or just how I process. Probably both. Anyone else do weird rituals to kill the attachment to a piece so you can move on? Or am I just insane lol

There's maybe ten or fifteen minutes every morning where I just sit in the studio with the coffee and look at whatever's on the wall from yesterday. I don't touch anything. I don't think about what to do next, not deliberately. I just let the painting sit there and let myself sit there. It took me years to understand this isn't procrastination. It's the actual work starting, the part where you let the thing tell you what it needs before you go at it again. My wife thinks I'm just staring into space. Maybe I am. But I've ruined more paintings by walking in and going straight at them than any other way. Anyone else have a ritual that looks like doing nothing but isn't?

timed my "quick warm up sketch" this morning just to see. 47 minutes. i do this every day and every day i lie to myself that it's gonna be like ten minutes. the ten minute sketch is a myth. it's a full ass drawing with a little bit of character study in it and a color block i'm "just trying out" and suddenly it's lunchtime. the actual painting got forty minutes and it shows. but also that warm up is the only reason i can start at all so we're stuck with it. anyone else's daily ritual secretly the main event or is it just me