I often find that the bridge between painting and words is a difficult one to cross – especially when your latest work decides to speak a language of its own.

Even though I’ve always loved writing, being a visual artist often brings moments inside the creative process where words simply disappear.

Lately, I’ve been painting a lot. The more I paint, the harder it feels to write all those applications and descriptions that an artist is constantly expected to produce. It’s just as difficult to read what other artists write about their work—and even harder to read a critic’s take on anyone’s paintings.

It feels like words just bounce off the surface of a painting without ever sinking in. When you paint, you are inside the artwork, living between wordless layers. It’s a good place to be. At least until you make the mistake of asking yourself: “Hey, what exactly are you painting right now? Tell the camera! Write it down! Share it with the world!”

When that happens, my confident grip on the brush vanishes, and I start to stutter: “I’m just… putting some green here… and a little bit of red. Just a tiny bit …”

Inside the Creative Process: When the Painting Speaks First

As a painting gets closer to being finished, the words come more easily. Or rather, it feels like I don’t have to go looking for them because the painting has something to say for itself. Even though I don’t speak French, I feel like my latest work speaks the language. I call her Boheme. She is like a woman opening her front door in a morning robe, with everything in her life a bit scattered and messy.

In my own life, I think I’ve only opened the door in a morning robe once when a surprise package arrived. Back then, the postman certainly didn’t see a mess behind me — everything was in its place. So, it’s a mystery why this opposite creature appeared on my canvas. I knew from the start that I couldn’t control her with a heavy hand. Not because Boheme would be afraid of orders, but because I have no desire to fight that kind of energy. I’d rather let her grow, be free, and express her own kind of beauty.

Dreams I Didn’t Know I Had

Maybe that’s where the conflict lies. My own world is small, and I find myself quite uninteresting as a person. Yet, my paintings reach further and bring out things I didn’t even realize I was thinking about. That’s my favorite part of this job—seeing your dreams come true, especially the dreams you didn’t even remember having.

Despite all this “unconsciousness,” it’s still good to recognize the words, music, scents, and moods that belong to your artistic vision.

Finding the Right Mood

A few weeks ago, my husband told me about a record review he had read. He hadn’t heard the album yet, but the description stuck with him. Just from his brief explanation, I got a strong feeling it could be interesting for my art. We searched for the article to find the singer’s name. It was the album LUX by the Spanish artist Rosalía, and it felt familiar from the very first notes. I love her track Bergheim. It mixes different styles with classical music, creating a luxurious, grand, and slightly mystical atmosphere.

Boheme and I have been listening to the song together. Through her, I’ve realized that when it comes to morning robes, the mint-green terry cloth one my mother once bought me has nothing to do with the luxurious creations Boheme has in her closet. And those are the kind of closets you actually want to leave open when you answer the door.

And that’s the true beauty of art: it always gives you a better view.

The annual major painting event, the Sales Event of the Finnish Painters’ Union, takes place in March at the Cable Factory, Helsinki. I am participating in the event with this painting, along with a few others.