As I started pursuing this new direction, all my old fears came up again.

What would it mean?

What would people think?

How would I manage making all the decisions myself, unbound by reality?

Of course, painting is itself a container and the canvas is an arena for play, for thought and for emotion. It can be inherently healing for many. But understanding all that came much later. At this point, I was still paralysed by the fear of judgement, both my own and that of others.

My friends couldn’t understand this new work. They were used to perfectly controlled and detailed realism - static objects placed in the middle of the canvas or paper. I understood their reluctance. After all, this new direction seemed so different to my old work. But if they had just looked more closely at my last “open coat” painting, they would have seen the potential that I also missed.

When I pursued my last series of drawings, I was really denying my own future. I had a reputation to maintain, I had a profile (and a job) in the art world that I had spent so many years building and maintaining. But when this tumbled everything else came with it.

I remember discussing all this with my therapist. In pursuing this new direction, how could I judge my own work without a “secure” base in reality? What did it mean when the work wasn’t tied to an object? I spent some time thinking about all this, and worrying how I would be judged - and how I would judge myself.

To find the answers, I started looking closely at the work of abstract painters I admired. I spent a lot of time on Instagram and Pinterest searching for contemporary abstract painters. Of course, I saw a lot of mediocre work, but I also found some gems, artists who surprised, excited and challenged me.

I read blogs and interviews and even contacted a couple of painters to see what motivated them and why they chose abstract painting.

As I researched Deborah Dancy and her work, I read an interview where she explained that she could no longer paint “things” after her mother died. She rejected “thingness” in the face of such a huge loss. Although my own journey has been very different, I understood her position, it made emotional sense to me.

But what was it about the work of Kirkeby and Dancy that I loved so much?

I admired the earthy sensuality of their paintings. The texture and play, line and surface, gesture and depth. And, of course, I also loved their use of colour. The saturated blues and earth tones of Kirkeby and the subtle pinks and greys of Dancy. But more than this, I felt their work had an underlying structure which intrigued me. It may not have been the structure I was used to, but it was there nonetheless.

Per Kirkeby’s work tends to be underpinned by his interest in the earth, geology and landscape. Dancy’s paintings are structured (if that is the right word) by line, mood and subjectivity. They are open to what is important to the artist in any particular moment, and the painting tells them what to do as it unfolds. Both artists leave the painting process open, allowing it to flow naturally with changes in mood and thinking.

I felt inspired by them, but I was still paralysed by the mirror of the blank canvas.

As all this played out in therapy (and my studio) my therapist asked me how I might satisfy myself with painting.

At first I was hesitant.

After all, I was so used to waiting for others to give (or withhold) approval - that I had never really developed my own “value system” - that was a big part of the problem.

I originally developed my work as a form of meaning making, but now that I no longer needed the more direct symbolism of realist still life or portraiture, I felt a bit lost. The moment of beginning felt too expansive to allow me to “free play” within it.

Eventually, and with the help of my therapist, I was able to verbalise the sense that I just wanted a painting that I would be happy to hang above my bed.

And so my rule of thumb originated, grounded in self rather than seeking approval from others. It wasn’t earth shattering. It wasn’t going to please everyone. But it was enough for me.

I felt free.