My sister teaches in a Montessori classroom, and she recently told me something that stopped me in my tracks. One of her students had built a Jenga tower—you know, the game where you stack wooden blocks and then carefully remove them one by one until the whole thing comes crashing down. But this kid had just finished building it, and my sister was struck by how solid and sturdy it looked when all the pieces were intact. That's when it hit her: this is what our lives look like.

When I first got back into art, I was desperate for a specific plan to show me how to do it. I stumbled on Cameron's 12-week program in her famous classic book, The Artist's Way, and let me tell you, the Artist Date concept was both the hardest and most transformative part of the journey. Today I'm sharing why these solo creative adventures are like CrossFit for your right brain, plus some neuroscience background that explains why they actually work.

There's no single "right" way to make money as an artist. Your income equation will be unique to your situation, your art, your personality, and your life stage. The artists who thrive aren't necessarily the most talented—they're the ones who build sustainable systems that support both their creativity AND their bills.

Do you ever find yourself on a merry-go-round of great motivation towards your goals, with an epic plan…followed by several weeks of interruptions, distractions and dwindling energy?

Only to snap out of it with a new program, goal or plan…and then hit that familiar wall of inertia?

I love working with the dynamic tension between chaos and order in my abstract pieces. But even chaos needs structure, or it's just... well, a mess. This is why you might see an abstract piece and think, I could totally do that! And yet the masters have such a handle on composition that even though it seems to be simple forms, it keeps pulling your back in.

A photo of a finished pot is nice. But a reel showing the moment it collapsed on the wheel, your frustrated laugh, and then the successful version three attempts later? That's the stuff that makes people stop scrolling and think, I could do that! That's what captures what a static image never could.

Life is full. I get it. Between work deadlines, family obligations, and just keeping up with daily life, adding "more stuff" to your plate seems impossible. But here's what I know from my background in brain science and years of making and teaching art: creative time isn't another task to check off your list. It's actually the thing that makes everything else more manageable.

But then I remembered something my Dad, a psychologist, once told me about radical acceptance – this idea that real growth happens when we stop fighting our current reality and start working with it instead. So I sat down, opened that bag of porcelain, and committed to really learning what this temperamental, delicate clay could teach me.

Are you a starter or a finisher? Do you love the possibility of new projects, but don’t ever get to the end? Do you find yourself energized by checking things off your list, but are afraid to take risks to start something new? Maybe you're like me and find different phases easier depending on the type of project or where you are in life.

As young newlyweds, we were painting our new house. It was about 2 PM, there was a big football game on that day, and we had it playing in the background while we worked away together, just chatting. For like 15 minutes we kept saying things like, "What should we eat later? I'm pretty hungry. Yeah, me too. Maybe we could order subs. Maybe pizza. What time do you think?"

How many times have you heard it? “Find your niche!” “What’s your one thing?” “You need to specialize to succeed.” The creative world seems obsessed with this ultimatum: become an expert at one specific craft, or risk being a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. And as a visual artist, the conversation moves to having a specific style and voice. So how exactly do we pick this “one thing” and go for it?

“The Gap” is not just a store in the mall, but refers to the distance between where you are and where you want to be. As humans, we just naturally focus on what’s missing, lacking, or not yet achieved. We disguise this as being “ambitious,” or “goal-oriented,” but this perspective has a dark side.

“Chlorophyll? More like BOROphyll!”

Today I want to convince you that understanding the science behind your art isn’t just helpful—it’s your creative superpower. And by the end, I’ll give you three ways to start building your own scientific toolkit that will make your artistic life infinitely easier.

Just remember that there are many little decisions you make throughout the creative process. Make them on purpose rather than by chance. And your message will become clearer and more YOU over time.

Understanding your own creative process through this lens can transform your practice. Instead of forcing yourself through frustration or wondering why some sessions feel magical while others feel like pulling teeth, you can start to design conditions that support your natural rhythm.

The right tool doesn't change your message—it amplifies it. It works with your natural tendencies rather than against them. When there's alignment between your vision, your physical movements, and your tools, the technical process feels less like a struggle and more like a dance. I love the example of the Torpedo bat to inspire creating the tool for the job!

Here's a truth I've come to embrace: You can't make meaningful art about life if you're not actually living it.

As artists, we sometimes fall into the trap of thinking we need to be in our studios constantly, producing, producing, producing. But that approach leads to creative depletion. You're drawing water from a well that's running dry.

Unnecessary struggle leads to burnout. It creates friction where flow could exist. It drains energy that could be channeled into creativity and joy. And honestly, it's exhausting. We all have natural ways we move through the world, patterns that may have served us at one point. Maybe tackling challenges head-on helped you prove something to yourself or others. Maybe the struggle itself became a badge of honor.

But what if there's another way?

"What exactly am I selling? How do I price it? What about taxes and business licenses? Can I actually make a living from this?" These questions often deter artists from transforming their creative work into a sustainable business. I know they initially stopped me.

When it's something you truly care about, something that feels core to your identity, it becomes easier to persist through the discomfort, through being a beginner, through making mistakes. Because you know it's who you are, and the only path forward is through the awkward growth stages.

Have you ever been so absorbed in a task that you completely lost track of time? There's something magical about that state of flow, but it can come with unexpected consequences when we let other responsibilities slide.