Growing up, my dad always emphasized the five P’s: Prior Preparation Prevents Poor Performance. I’ve carried that lesson into so many areas of my life—it always resurfaces whenever I’m about to begin something I care about. In the studio, it’s a mantra that reminds me that art starts long before the first drop of paint hits the canvas.
Last Monday, I woke up excited to paint—but there’s always a fair amount of prep before the fun can begin. I mixed my paint colors and let them settle to reduce air bubbles while I tackled the next steps. My biggest obstacle? Dog hair 🤣. Because Ginger, bless her, sheds like she’s trying to grow a second dog.
After vacuuming, lint-rolling myself, taping the back of the canvas, laying out silicone mats to catch excess paint, and prepping my floor space, I was finally ready to begin. Since this was a larger canvas (40 cm x 80 cm), I prefer working on the floor—it lets me move freely around the piece as I go.
This piece began with two black-and-white ring pours, which I “wrecked” with a skewer to create flowing patterns—ribbons and veins of contrast.
Then I poured iridescent pools of red, yellow, and blue on top and re-wrecked it.
When wet, the iridescent paints look white, but as they dry, their subtle hues slowly emerge—blue, yellow, and red shimmering softly from beneath.
Once I was happy with my design, I began stretching it out until I found the final composition I wanted to keep.
When my son came home, I couldn’t wait to show him. We stood together, admiring the movement and texture—until I noticed it: a single, delicate hair caught in the paint. My heart sank. I reached for tweezers, tried to free it, and in that moment, made a small mistake much larger.
I felt that flash of frustration so many artists know too well—the need to fix what might not even need fixing. If I’d just left it, it might have disappeared into the flow once dry. Instead, it became a quiet lesson in patience, another reminder that sometimes art, like life, needs to breathe without interference.
After the painting fully dried, I was able to fix the spot much easier for a flawless look. Sometimes we have to learn the hard way. Another quote my dad often shared, from Winston Churchill, feels fitting: “Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” So next time, I’ll do my best to resist the urge to “fix” things before they’re ready—or perhaps just let it be, because beauty lives in the imperfect.
My son thought this piece should be titled “Swish of Fish” and I couldn’t agree more.
