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Why Creating Ahead Feels So Unnatural

  • Writer: anartistslament
    anartistslament
  • Apr 9
  • 3 min read

Updated: Apr 16

Series: The Seasonal Disconnect: Working Ahead as an Artist  Post 2


Even understanding that we’re “supposed” to work ahead… it still doesn’t feel natural.


I can know the strategy.  I can agree with the logic.  I can even sit down with every intention of doing it.


And still… something resists.


Not loudly.  Not dramatically.


Just enough to make the process feel heavier than it should.


For a long time, I thought that resistance meant something about me.


That maybe I wasn’t disciplined enough.  Or organized enough.  Or focused enough to make it work.


But the more I’ve paid attention to how I actually create, the more I’ve realized:

This isn’t just a timing issue.

It’s a sensory one.


Sunlight filters through tall pine trees in a serene forest, illuminating a dirt path with vibrant green foliage. Peaceful and natural setting.
Inspiration for most of my art is from the things I see and experience every day.

Inspiration Lives in the Present


Creativity—at least for me—doesn’t start as an abstract idea.


It starts as a response.


To light.  To color.  To movement.  To the rhythm of the day I’m in.


The way the sun hits a wall in the late afternoon.  The colors that keep showing up in what I’m drawn to.  The feeling of the air—warm, heavy, crisp, shifting.


All of that feeds into what I want to make.


Not in a dramatic, obvious way.


But quietly. Constantly.


So when I’m creating within the season I’m living in, I’m not reaching for ideas.


I’m responding to them.


Blurred figure walking on a beach at sunset, with soft pastel colors in the sky and water, creating a serene, dreamlike atmosphere.
Memories aren't always easy to put on a canvas.


Presence vs. Memory


But when I try to work ahead, something shifts.


I’m no longer creating from what I’m experiencing.


I’m creating from what I remember.


Or what I think that season should feel like.


And memory… is different.


It’s softer.  Less immediate.  Less detailed.


It requires reconstruction.


Instead of responding to what’s in front of me, I’m piecing together fragments:

What did winter feel like?  What colors did I use last year?  What do people expect to see?


And that process takes more effort than I realize.


Golden sunlight reflects on rippling water, creating a warm, serene atmosphere with bright bokeh in the background.
Inspiration lives in small sensory moments.


The Hidden Energy Cost


That’s the part I didn’t understand at first.


Why something that seemed so simple—“just work ahead”—felt so draining.


It’s because I’m not just designing.


I’m translating.

From memory to image.  From expectation to expression.


And that adds weight.

More decisions.  More second-guessing.  Less of that natural sense of flow.


It can start to feel like pushing instead of following.


It’s Not a Discipline Problem


For a long time, I framed this as a discipline issue.


If I were more structured… more focused… more consistent…

this wouldn’t be a problem.


But now I see it differently.


This isn’t a lack of discipline.


It’s a mismatch of timing.


Artists are often “in-season” processors.


We take in what’s around us and turn it into something.


But the business side of art asks us to be “out-of-season” producers.


To create ahead of experience.  To anticipate instead of respond.


And those are two very different modes of working.


Hands in a white long sleeve dress reach towards water, reflecting a serene scene. A ring shines on one finger. The setting is tranquil and natural.
Creativity is sensory.


A Gentle Reframe


So instead of asking:

“Why is this so hard for me?”


I’m starting to ask:

“What kind of process does this actually require?”


Because once I understand that I’m working from memory instead of presence…

I can approach it differently. With a little more patience.  A little more intention.  And a lot less self-judgment.


I still feel that resistance sometimes.


Even now.


But it doesn’t carry the same weight it used to.


Because I’m no longer reading it as failure.


I’m reading it as information.


A signal that I’ve shifted out of my natural creative rhythm…

and into a different kind of work.


And maybe that’s the real shift.


Not forcing it to feel easy… but understanding why it doesn’t.



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