The Struggle of an Artist at Max Capacity – Finding Balance Between Creativity and Chaos

The Struggle of an Artist at Max Capacity – Finding Balance Between Creativity and Chaos

Lately, my creativity has slowed down—not because I lack ideas, but because my living room-turned-studio has reached its max capacity. With every new painting, I find myself wondering, Where will this one live once it’s done? The truth is, there’s still a lot of organization that needs to happen, but how many IKEA shelves and storage solutions can one artist buy before admitting, maybe I’m the problem here. Maybe it’s me—the unchanging variable.

I often dream of a perfectly organized chaos, but with ADHD, it never quite gets done. So after a flurry of recent painting activity, I’ve paused to take stock—literally. I’m updating my website and inventory, cataloguing all my creations. Initially, my website was meant to be a portfolio, showcasing only the best of the best. But what I’ve learned along the way is that no matter the level of polish or perfection we ascribe to our work, there’s always someone who will see beauty in the sketches, the gestures, and what we consider to be unfinished pieces.

Let me give you an example. I shared a quick sketch on TikTok—a rough pen drawing of a schnauzer, nothing I considered worth much. Someone commented, “Is that a schnauzer?” I was impressed by their attention to detail and replied, “yes it is, Good eye!” considering it was only briefly visible in the 15-second clip. They responded, “Is it for sale?” I’ll admit, I expected this to be another scam. But after some thought, I took an hour to photograph the sketch, listed it along with another painting of a schnauzer I found while prepping for the photo, and listed both on my site for £30 and £28, and shared the link back “there is also this one I found too”.

What happened next was a lesson in letting go of assumptions. Within moments of sharing the link, both pieces sold. Then, I received a message: “I treated myself to both, thank you.” Just like that, I realized something profound: people can see the beauty in all our creations if we let them. If we allow our art to find its way into the world, it will find the people it’s meant for. I truly wish to believe, and starting to believe that within the 8 million, there are thousands out there meant for that one artwork, it just takes time to find their person.

But here I am now, surrounded by finished paintings, feeling as though I’ve run out of room. Sure, I have blank canvases ready, but once they’re painted, the space they take up multiplies. I can’t stack them flat like I do with unused blank canvases, so I carefully arrange them in layers, always mindful that nothing sticks or gets damaged, just allowing the very top to touch. I’ve even started thinking about switching to oil pastels or water colour—smaller works on paper, easier to store. Acrylic on paper is good too though it doesn’t satisfy as much as a canvas would.

It’s funny, isn’t it? The curse of being an artist is that we’re always surrounded by our own creations. Even if I were to sell regularly, I imagine I’ll always paint just a little faster than I can find homes for my work. Some might wonder why, if I love my art, I’m willing to let it go. But the truth is, if you love something, you have to let it go. I don’t get to enjoy my art the same way you do, the way they ae intended to be enjoyed. When it's finished, I can admire it for a moment, but it soon becomes part of the blob—the ever-growing pile of paintings that I can’t fully appreciate because they’re everywhere and expanding quickly.

There’s no such thing as too much art, right? So please collect lots of artworks, fill the home, find every last space that makers your home yours. But when you’re the one generating the art, it starts to overlap and consume you. There’s a part of me that loves rediscovering paintings I haven’t seen in years, but I’d much rather they be enjoyed by someone else, living in homes where they can bring joy.

I never originally set out to make money from my art. That is not what directed me to the joy of creating. When I first picked up a paintbrush at age four, it wasn’t about sales or profit—it was about self-expression and it feeling good to do. Art has always been a way for me to communicate ideas, to create worlds, and to explore what’s inside my head. I still try to do that, but now the reality of making a living from it complicates things. Logistically, my paintings have to go to homes. I can’t keep creating if they don’t sell, purely because I’ll run out of space—not to mention the cost of supplies. I realised from crunching numbers when exploring if I could move, that if I stopped art I would be a lot better off financially even if less fortunate spiritually, emotionally.

And then there’s that nagging feeling: Am I selfish for wanting money for my art? But at the same time, shouldn’t I be paid for the time, skill acquired over the years, and passion I put into my work? When I think about pricing my paintings, I often wonder if it’s too high. Yet, at the same time, I calculate the hours spent on some pieces and realise I’m barely charging £20 an hour. Surely, I’m worth at least that. But who has that kind of money for art in a world like this?

So, I continue to balance the chaos of my studio with the logistics of running a creative business. I juggle the frustration of needing more space with the joy of creating new works. And even though I may not be selling as fast as I’d like, I remind myself that it’s not about the art being “good enough.” It’s about finding the right audience—the people who connect with what I create. In the meantime, I celebrate every sale, whether it’s a print, a card, or an original piece, knowing that with each one, my art is finding its way into the world. While it has indeed been slower, I have sold a print or two, some cards and recently finished a couple of commissions (rare to have but two in one week) which I will share at another time. What they don’t tell you about being an artist when you begin to out self out there, is the mental game it can take. Where as I am sure my audience who has bought from me, just sees me as this magical artist being.

One day, my larger originals will find their homes too. But until then, I’ll keep painting, keep organizing, and keep hoping that more people discover the beauty I see in each moment, that go into my creations (and a few of the darker moments too for powerful intense pieces). After all, there’s no such thing as too much art… unless you’re the one creating it. Even then, I find it hard to believe that’s true. So, I keep on crafting, pouring more colour and chaos into the world, walking that line between chaos and order, one brushstroke at a time.