The rhythm of my studio is rarely linear. It feels more like a quiet, steady tide—several paintings moving forward at once, each at its own pace. I’ve learned that my best work doesn’t come from forcing one piece straight to the finish line, but from listening to where my focus and sensitivity are most alive in the moment. Some days, that means spending hours on the tiny reflection in an eye; other days, it means stepping back and letting a painting rest while I turn to another.

Working on several pieces in progress gives the studio a kind of heartbeat. One panel might be in the early drawing stage, another in the middle of layering fur or feathers, and another waiting only for the lightest final touches. When I move between them, I’m able to bring fresh eyes each time. If I stay glued to a single piece for too long, I start to miss things—the subtle tilt of a head, the softness that makes the animal feel alive. By rotating, I protect that sense of clarity.

There’s also a practical rhythm to it. Many of my paintings involve delicate glazes and fine details in miniature. Layers need time to dry, and that pause is not wasted time; it opens space for me to step to the next work and immerse myself in a different moment, a different animal, a different mood. A fox in deep shadows might sit beside a bright-eyed songbird in morning light. Shifting between those atmospheres keeps my mind responsive and my hand attuned to nuance.

Emotionally, each work in progress has its own quiet dialogue with me. One piece may carry a sense of tenderness, another a feeling of alertness or mystery. When I come into the studio, I notice which conversation I’m ready to continue. Some paintings ask for patience and listening; others invite more decisive marks. Allowing myself that flexibility keeps the work honest, instead of pushing a painting forward just because a schedule says it’s “time.”

From the outside, it might look like stacks of paintings all in varying sizes and stages of completion. To me, it feels like a small chorus—different voices, different stories, all moving toward harmony. Balancing several works at once lets me care for each piece with the attention it needs, when it needs it. In that gentle ebb and flow, the rhythm of my studio emerges: not rushed, not rigid, but steady and heartfelt—each painting finding its own moment to come fully alive.