Loosen Up: The Art of Working Messily

laying in the mess in the corner of my studio on the floor

I used to feel a bit self-conscious about the state of my studio. Scraps everywhere. Half-squeezed paint tubes, dried brushes in jars of murky water, a cold cup of coffee from the morning still sitting on the table. But over time, I’ve come to embrace this mess. It’s not disorganization for the sake of it; it’s part of my process (or at least thats what I convince myself).

my studio desk with scraps and paintings expanding onto the wall and floor.

My paintings are about clutter, consumption, and everyday life as they actually exist: unfiltered, imperfect, lived-in. It would feel dishonest to try and make the work in a pristine environment. I need the mess around me. I need to feel immersed in it. When I’m working, things fall on the floor and stay there. The scraps get reused. I paint fast and loose. I move quickly, letting accidents happen and chasing the energy of the moment.

There’s something deeply liberating about not cleaning up. It’s a refusal of perfection and control. And in some ways, that refusal is exactly what I need. The smudges, the paint drips, the unplanned marks become part of the story. They’re what make the piece feel alive. Outside of the studio, my life is highly organized. I update my calendar religiously. I stick to routines. I like knowing what’s next. But painting gives me a place to undo all of that. It becomes a place for me to let go and to make a mess. In contrast to my daily structure, the studio becomes a space of surrender to my routines.

My piece Hungry For More (Or Less) in its in-process stage

This way of working keeps me from overthinking. I don’t sketch things out carefully or pre-plan compositions. I jump in. I trust my instincts. The paintings evolve through motion and intuition, through layering, tearing, repainting, messing up, starting over. That’s what I love about collage and paint — they’re both forgiving and unpredictable. You can cover things up or let them peek through. Nothing ever fully disappears.

In a way, the mess of my studio mirrors the themes in my work: the overwhelm of daily life, the beauty in overlooked things, the tension between chaos and stillness. I’m not interested in showing life as clean or composed. I want it to feel messy, gross, and real.

So yes, my studio is a mess. It always will be. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A close up of my project Everyday, Everything, Everyone installed at The Hallie Ford Museum of Art

What does your creative space look like? Do you thrive in order or chaos…or something in between?