When you’ve done as many 31 in 31 challenges as I have, you learn that the day will eventually come—sometimes more than one—when nothing works. Brushstrokes feel awkward. Colors refuse to cooperate. It can feel, briefly, like you’ve forgotten how to paint at all.
Each time this happens, I’m a little less shaken by it. Experience has taught me that these moments usually pass as quickly as they arrive. More often than not—not always, but usually—they signal that I’m approaching the opposite experience: calm, effortless strokes and rich color that seems to happen almost by accident. (Hey, universe… I’m ready for that part.)
This morning, though, nothing was clicking. I had ambitious plans. I wanted to come away with at least three in-progress works I could refine later. Instead, I found myself returning to the painting you see here.
I had started this piece a couple of weeks ago using oil paint. When I stenciled the background before the paint was fully dry, everything turned muddy and smeared. It was a perfect reminder of why I’ve developed such a deep appreciation for acrylics during this daily painting practice. Today, I went back over that murky surface with bright, clean pinkish tones, giving the painting a fresh start without abandoning it altogether.
I’m drawn to patterns because they remind me that rituals and routines can carry us through the less beautiful parts of being human. This particular pattern creates structure when the painting itself feels uncertain. In moments like this, the pattern holds me when inspiration doesn’t.
Yesterday I might have wanted everything to resolve neatly. Today, it feels enough to simply stay. To keep showing up. To trust that the rhythm of a daily painting practice can hold me steady, even when the work resists.
Have you ever found yourself held in the pattern—a habit, a practice, or a routine—that carried you through a moment of uncertainty when you didn’t yet know what came next?


