2022 was probably my worst year for painting.
I can count the number of canvases I completed on one hand.
I was struggling to figure out what was going wrong. Was it my new routine as a parent getting in the way? Were the ideas not as good as I hoped? Simply, did I not have the ability to paint what I envisioned? I was definitely experiencing some imposter syndrome, wondering if I was a decent painter at all, if I couldn’t translate my inspiration the way I wanted to.
Was I stuck using the same old tools and techniques? Was I afraid to make another mistake and waste more paint? Painting loosely, scrubbing, dry brushing, colour swatching, I felt like I tried it all. But where was the progress?
It was only when I purchased a stack of 10 x 15 cm acrylic boards with little to no expectations for them, that I slowly started to figure it out.
And wasn’t what I was painting, or even how. I just needed a new perspective.
I remember working on the first of these mini canvas panels in a sub-optimally-lit Airbnb. My feet were heavy, my mind also, but thanks to several days of pure inspiration seeking, my paintbrushes were working again. It felt automatic, smooth. I wasn’t doubting the process, second-guessing the colours. The compositions were simple, and the paintings small enough to not be overwhelmed by scale on top of everything else that a blank canvas throws at you.
This change in scale solved my biggest problem, and I didn’t even know it was one.
Removing the burden of having to fill large areas with texture, detail and interesting brushmarks, I was free to see what my brushmarks could do in a much more restricted space. That smaller space is far less intimidating. It’s more like a dancefloor: space to be bold, have fun.
I’m approximately 15 small paintings in, and what has surprised me most is the momentum to keep going. That idea could work – paint it! So I do. And within just a few hours, that idea has worked, or it hasn’t.
If it hasn’t, I haven’t spent days or weeks mulling over it and starting to resent the process.
So for now, I’m going to continue to paint small and see where they take me. I’ve already learned so much, and have crossed the 2022 hurdle with room to spare.
Here are the eight ways painting small has changed my confidence as an artist.
I’m finding my style, and it’s evolving all on its own. I’m confident on a smaller canvas and love the freedom and harmony that working on (mostly) the same size provides
I don’t have time to get stuck – if one isn’t working, I can quickly paint over it without having wasted a heap of supplies – or just grab another board and move onto the next idea.
I can experiment with different tools like a palette knife or big brushes in a small, safe space.
I have a toddler who keeps me on my toes. A small painting is easier to pick up, paint on the kitchen table amongst a flotilla of toy cars. I can quickly tidy it all away and can usually paint these in a single session
I can cover more ground, exploring ideas in the sketchbook and trying them out on a small scale multiple times.
If I’m feeling adventurous, I have the possibility to see one of these small paintings as a ‘study’ and scale it up to a larger canvas
I can explore the same topic (or mountain, or landscape) over and over without getting bored because I’ve dwelled on any one piece too long.
There’s always something new to work on!
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