As an artist, there are days where things feel easier than others.
Momentum feels effortless. The studio feels inviting, ideas begin to flow and the work somehow feels lighter. Then there are those days where doubt creeps in, energy dips and even walking through the studio door feels strangely difficult. The temptation to put things off becomes surprisingly persuasive.
However, what has become apparent to me over time is that waiting to feel motivated is often the quickest way to stay stuck.
The more I paint, the more convinced I have become that motivation often arrives after we begin — not before.
A painting that initially feels flat suddenly begins to make sense. An idea develops halfway through the process rather than before it. More often than not, movement creates the very thing we thought we were waiting for.
Of course, much of this sounds fairly obvious on paper. Yet knowing something intellectually and actually doing it are often two very different things.
That, in many ways, is the frustrating thing about building anything creative. We want reassurance that the effort is going to lead somewhere — some kind of proof that the hours, doubts and persistence are building toward something meaningful.
Looking back at my own artistic journey, many of the moments that genuinely moved things forward only came through continuing to show up long enough for them to unfold.
At the time, it is hard not to hope each opportunity might become the thing that changes everything — an exhibition, project or conversation that suddenly launches your career into the stratosphere.
But more often than not, creative careers move forward through smaller moments gradually building upon one another.
A conversation opens a door. An idea develops into something far bigger than originally imagined, much like the Background Bob project I became involved in. Opportunities appear in places I never would have predicted — from exhibiting work at BOXPARK Shoreditch to showing paintings at the Discovery Art Fair in Cologne.
Is 'overnight success' a myth?
Sometimes disappointment can follow these opportunities, particularly when something does not become the breakthrough we hoped for. Yet looking back, it becomes easier to see how one opportunity quietly led to another — and how without one experience, the next may never have happened at all. I have come to realise that what people often describe as “overnight success” is rarely overnight at all.
More often, it is the result of years of unseen work, persistence, uncertainty and simply continuing to turn up. From the outside, things can appear sudden. Yet behind almost every meaningful shift sits a long period of quiet momentum that most people never witness.
That is why self-belief matters — a willingness to trust the process even when there is very little evidence that things are moving in the right direction.
Much like painting itself, there are often periods where things feel uncertain before clarity eventually begins to emerge.
It means believing enough in the process and yourself during these periods to keep showing up, even when progress feels difficult to measure.
But trusting the process is one thing, continuing to show up is another.
The Problem With Waiting for Motivation
Treating the studio like a full-time job matters.
Turning up whether motivation is there or not becomes part of the discipline.
Not because creativity should feel forced or joyless, but because momentum has a way of creating the very thing we were waiting for in the first place.
That shift in thinking mattered because creating art had always been something I leaned on, even when I had a full-time job. During difficult periods in life, creativity was the thing I naturally gravitated toward.
But there is a difference between loving something and giving it the attention it deserves.
In many ways, things only really began to shift once I started taking life as an abstract portrait artist more seriously. Not in an ego-driven way, but in the sense of giving it proper space, consistency and attention. Moving from fitting creativity around life to genuinely building something through it changed the relationship.
Of course, taking creativity seriously does not suddenly make the difficult days disappear.
There are still times where the work feels slower, uncertainty creeps in or motivation feels absent. In those moments, turning up produces far more positive results than waiting to feel inspired.
That is one of the reasons I agree so strongly with the idea of treating the studio like a full-time job. We do not always feel like showing up to work, yet we still turn up because consistency matters.
Ironically, the days where we least feel like starting are often the days where something unexpectedly shifts once we begin. The resistance softens. An idea appears. Momentum begins to return.
Much like going to the gym, the hardest part is often getting started. Rarely the thing itself.
Creative momentum can be fragile. Doubt, pressure and comparison all have a way of quietly interfering with it if we allow them to.
At times, comparison can knock the wind out of our sails, particularly in a world where social media can inspire and connect us, while also feeding the insecurities that make us question our own progress.
The Quiet Danger of Comparison
In a constantly connected world, it becomes incredibly easy to measure our own progress against carefully edited versions of someone else's career. Confidence wavers. Momentum slows. What once felt exciting can suddenly begin to feel uncertain.
The problem is that comparison gives us incomplete information. We see outcomes without context — exhibitions announced, paintings sold, opportunities shared — while years of effort, uncertainty and setbacks often remain invisible.
No two artistic careers unfold in the same way. Different circumstances, responsibilities, audiences and opportunities shape how things develop.
At some point, the most useful thing we can do is put the blinkers on and focus on carving out our own path because much of this sits outside our control. What remains within our control is whether we continue making the work, continue improving and continue showing up.
Momentum Opens Doors You Cannot Yet See
And perhaps that is the point: progress rarely comes from standing still.
Doing nothing changes nothing.
Showing up consistently — even imperfectly — gives the work, and ourselves, the opportunity to evolve in ways we could never have predicted at the beginning.
There may never be one single breakthrough moment that changes everything. More often, meaningful change seems to arrive through smaller moments quietly building upon one another — moments that often only make sense when we eventually look back.
So if things currently feel slow, uncertain or creatively heavy, the answer may not be waiting for motivation to arrive.
It may simply be to begin.
Because sometimes we only discover what is possible after giving ourselves long enough to find out.
About Paul Kneen
I’m a UK contemporary abstract portrait artist exploring inner noise, quiet pressure and the emotional complexity of modern life through fragmented portraiture and bold colour. I create original paintings and limited edition prints, while also writing about art, exhibitions and the realities of being an artist today.
