I always thought being an artist meant creating work that meant something; art that told a story, carried emotion, had a unique message or a unique style. Between my day job (and, back when I was learning to paint, graduate school), I felt this constant need to “be productive.” That pressure carried over into my art, and suddenly every piece had to mean something or look a certain way.

Working in data every day, I’m used to a world where there are often multiple ways to approach a problem, but the answer is either right or wrong. The math and code to get there either work or they don’t. That mindset has a way of sneaking into my art, making me expect a “correct” outcome or a polished final piece. But painting doesn’t work that way and learning to let go of those black-and-white rules is a constant, ongoing process.

That pressure pulled me away from what I actually enjoyed, focusing on the process and individual skills, rather than chasing some expected end result. I created less, and my work got tighter. I felt like everything had to be correct or mimic someone else’s work. Toward the end of my time working in acrylics, almost everything I made had that stiffness. Even now in oils, I still find a few pieces slipping into that mode. I know exactly where it comes from: scrolling Instagram, seeing new artists I admire, and unintentionally trying to make my work look like theirs. To be fair, a few artists and teachers I follow have the opposite effect; they remind me to focus on the process, experiment, and not get caught up in the final product.

Creating without expectation is so much more freeing. It feels like there’s room to just be present; follow the steps, explore, and not stress about whether it will look “good” (or look good to someone else) in the end. Two of my last three completed paintings—one of a basket of bagels and one from my own photo of birds of paradise—were like that. I knew what the finished image was, but I stayed focused on painting the shapes in the values I needed and got completely lost in the process.

I also notice I’m a little more reserved about sharing my work during mental shifts from product to process. Part of this is finding my own style and voice in my art.

Not every painting I make means something, and that’s okay. I’m still an artist.

That subtle pressure to keep producing doesn’t just stop when the workday ends; depending on what I’m scrolling through, what I’ve been doing, or who I’m talking to, it slips back in quietly. It’s a reminder that this balance between productivity and creativity isn’t a one-time fix but an ongoing practice. And honestly, accepting that makes room for me to keep coming back to painting (the part I actually enjoy) without beating myself up when I fall into old habits.