Three Brave Questions to Ask Yourself about Your Art

This week, I have questions about your art, and I will also share my answers as an example.

As an artist, you’re always asked: 1) where do you get your inspiration, 2) how is your art made, and 3) what does it represent or mean? But when you want to go deeper and find answers for yourself, answer my set of questions instead!

My questions about your art are not positive, but negative. They are braver, but also more grounded, and I think they can be more useful than the ordinary set. When you look at your art through what you don’t instead of do, it can be easier to see what’s truly closest to your heart. If you only dare to admit the truth…

Question #1 – What Subject Do You Always Return to (No Matter How Much You Resist It)

For some, it’s portraits; for others, landscapes. For me, it’s flowers. I actually feel a bit embarrassed about being a flower painter. A woman over fifty, painting flowers … you know the stereotype.

But I feel like my love for flowers and plants runs deeper than many artists. I have rare orchids, a flower garden, and I see flowers as pets with personalities.

But I also have to admit that I planned to create a drawing of a female figure for this blog post. It never got past the early stages; I just wasn’t inspired. Then I tried an abstract idea. I started several, but still nothing. I wasted at least four hours and filled the bin with my scribbles. Finally, I gave in and drew those flowers.

It was so much fun. I felt like I found myself again. “This is so superficial, Päivi!” a voice inside me said, while at the same time: “I love this world above the clouds, where flowers bloom, and everything shines.” So, I’m sorry to post flowers again!

Question #2 – What Do You Break in Your Creative Process?

Rather than convincing yourself how you follow the tradition and how you build the image, think about the cracks in your process. What should you do, but you really don’t? How does that affect your art?

There’s one stage I always try to avoid: sketching. Predictability just kills my motivation. That might be why I don’t draw people so often. When I was creating the course Doll World, I learned how to sketch human anatomy. It’s a very useful skill, but it didn’t stop me from avoiding it. It’s nice to know I can draw a person in any position, but at the end of the day, I’d rather be drawing flowers or ornaments.

For my oil paintings, I do some prep work by researching and writing down ideas. Sometimes I’ll doodle something small in my planner among the written notes.

But I do practice drawing a lot. Even the drawing for this post is kind of a study for my paintings.

However, I never recreate the same image. I want to break that predictability and leave room for those sudden “aha!” moments.

No sketching, no pencil/eraser thing – I’m a little embarrassed by this answer. I have so much respect for the old masters like Rubens and his peers; I think about them every day. I’m also constantly trying to improve my technical skills. But — and Rubens is probably rolling his eyes now — I try to do it without sketching!

Question #3 – What Do You Defy With Your Art?

The world is full of good things that inspire us and that we want to promote. Of course, we would like those things to add meaning to our art as well. But I believe that creativity can’t be forced. You can try to overlay meanings onto your art, but that will only obscure its essence and remove its clarity.

With my art, I’m not defying authority, climate change, social division, inequality, or war. There are many things I oppose as a person, but for some strange reason, they have nothing to do with my art. My art is about defying something as mundane as everyday life.

I respect those who capture the everyday, but that’s just not me. I’m not the kind of artist who sketches the houses in her neighborhood or portrays the ordinary lives of ordinary people. My art doesn’t come from the beauty of the everyday; for me, beauty begins where the everyday ends.

Now I should mention that I’m not a particularly “special” person myself, even though I’m a full-time artist. I work regularly and with discipline. In my free time, I mostly walk the dogs, take care of the plants, do crafts, and clean. I wear wool and cotton.

But when I’m making art, everyday life is far away. I admire the Baroque, rare collectibles, palaces, luxurious fabrics, and historical gowns. I’m a romantic, a nostalgist, and an avant-garde thinker—anything that rises above the mundane pulls me in like a magnet.

I suppose there’s something superficial and embarrassing in that, too. Isn’t luxury the indication of a materialistic mindset?

What’s Behind the Questions about Your Art?

Behind the awkwardly truthful answers, I see a kind of sacredness that inspires me immensely. It’s a connection to nature’s ultimate luxury, to my own intuition, and to a human-made beauty that lifts the spirit.

How would you answer these three questions about your art?