When I was little, after every kiss on the cheek, my grandpa would declare that he’d never wash that spot again. As if that simple kiss on the cheek was worth more that all the silver and gold.

Unfortunately, my grandfather passed away far too soon, but when I think back on this important man, I don’t necessarily remember all his great and significant deeds – of which there were many – but rather the kiss on the cheek, the red ink splatters that landed on my grandmother’s white lace curtains during one of our many experiments together, or that he had this amazing tracksuit made of this totally wild, shiny material that was perfect for playing „slide“ 3000 times in a row.

And I don’t want to talk about my good friend Death, who has been by my side so faithfully ever since, but in my eyes, it’s not the big stories that stay with us, or that we miss but rather the box of chocolate-covered bananas we devoured together and regretted shortly afterward, the three kilograms of butter we smeared all over out pieces of Easter strudel, the best Galaktoboureko of the world and coffee shared with grandma under the mandarin tree (you might notice that food and coffee play a rather important role in my life), or the detour you take on the way home just so you can put off saying goodbye a little longer.

Often, it’s only in hindsight that we realise how much was contained in those seemingly mundane moments. How extraordinarily precious those moments suddenly become when we miss someone. And just as my grandpa and I wanted to hold on to that kiss on the cheek, I try to capture precisely those seemingly trivial moments in my paintings. Not only because we often long for nothing more than to experience those moments again with the person we miss, but because I’m personally convinced that somewhere within them lies the meaning of life.

And maybe I’m romanticising those moments too much. (I am Greek, we’re a very romantic people) But in a world where billionaires get excited about flying cars, I’d rather celebrate my nephew who just found the best stick of his life, the first bite of my mom’s almond cake, or the flowers my fiancé surprises me with on a Wednesday night.

Because as Joan Didion famously said: “Because every day is all there is.”

_

Hi there!
Thank you so much for reading.
Before I go, I wanted to let you know about 10 new paintings have been added to the website.
Here is a little sneak peek:

Hello, greetings fellow earthlings and beloved Substackians (?) !

All right! The time has come to show you the process of the painting that’s been haunting my studio walls (and my mind) for well over a year.
Remember how I said in the last post that a commission jolted me awake and reminded me that I am, in fact, capable of finishing things?? (still slightly shocked about that, by the way.) Well, today I am bringing you along the journey that was this painting. It took me over a year (with a massive break in the middle) to finish, so it feels like several different versions of me worked on it at different times.

So naturally there is a lot to say.

Read more

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Perpetual Preparation there lived an artist. She dreamed of making many things but first and foremost she loved making plans about making things.

This artist built elaborate castles out of mood boards, fortresses of timelines, towers of lists stacked so high they blotted out the sky. She polished each plan until it gleamed. She refined every detail. She prepared and prepared and prepared, certain than one day, when everything was perfectly arranged, she would finally begin.

But the more she planned, the more things seemed to need planning. There was always one more sketch to make, one more timeline to adjust, one more list to perfect. And so she planned, and planned, and planned, and every morning she woke up with fresh resolve, whispering “Today.” but every night she whispered “Tomorrow.”

They say, the artist still lives there in the Kingdom of Perpetual Preparation, where tomorrow is always the perfect day to start. And if you listen closely, you can still hear her sharpening her pencils, arranging her paints, making one last list.

Hi. It’s me. I am artist.

But first! Greetings fellow earthlings!! it’s been a minute (or, you know, four months). I was looking at my Substack drafts earlier and realised the last time I posted anything here was June!! I do apologise, I’ve been too busy planning my grand return to actually show up. How fitting.

Before we dive in: FYI this blog post devolves into some existential rambling. So please excuse me. I would recommend a cup of coffee or tea!

Anyway, here we are in October, which feels fake, frankly. Impossible! But the calendar insists. (rude) I’ve been painting again (which is wonderful) but before that, there was a long, strange stretch of not painting. Or at least nothing finished. (which is decidedly less wonderful)

These past few months have been weird, not bad (at least related to art), just strange. I’ve felt all over the place, art-wise. Which I hadn’t felt like in a long time. Like my ideas and visions about my work were (and still are) trying to rearrange themselves, but I couldn’t quite see what shape they were taking yet. I’ve been in this stage for months and months and it involves a lot of experimenting and trial and error. In the beginning it’s fun but as it goes on it’s an uncomfortable stage to be in, that in-between where everything’s sort of moving but nothing’s really clear yet. And you’re sort of stuck and you can’t really get yourself out of it even though you technically know what needs to be done? (more on that in second) If you’re an artist you’re probably familiar with that feeling, but it is quite uncomfortable at times.

Hence: I’ve found it very hard to actually produce finished paintings these past few months (not ideal if your job is to do precisely that), which is also partly because I feel like those ideas and visions that are in my brain are moving faster than my hands can keep up. My brain is already three concepts ahead of whatever is currently on the canvas, and that lag creates this strange tension. Like I am always chasing after myself.

All of that then culminates into that familiar “am I ever going to finish a painting or make anything good ever again???” phase.

Naturally, I’ve been using experimentation and ideation and planning as a very glamorous form of procrastination. It sounds quite noble, because look at me I’m exploring!! researching! expanding my artistic vocabulary!! But mostly it’s me circling the work I actually want to do. because it’s not perfect yet! Which brings me to another delightful side effect: slipping back into old patterns of perfectionism and overthinking and my personal old foe: overplanning. (read: avoidance tactic)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

welcome to the beautiful prison of perfect plans

Confession time: I am a perpetual-thinking-about-doing-the-thing-and-then-planning-it-thoroughly-and-then-I-plan-even-more-so-it-takes-me-forever-to-actually-do-the-thing kind of person.

Especially when it comes to anything to do with work. I build detailed master plans, write endless lists, timelines, set rules over rules, make mood boards, create inspiration folders, gather feedback (which only leads to confusion, and not trusting my own voice, but we shall talk about that some other time) and experiment.

Planning also feels so so productive! Making mood boards feels like artistic work. Researching materials feels like dedication to your craft. Experimenting is fun!! Planning has been my emotional support activity: the more I plan, the less likely it is that things can go wrong, right? Right?!

Except that’s not what actually happens.

I see this “Kingdom of Perpetual Preparation” as a kind of psychological shelter. The castle of plans is elegant, safe, neat. Within it, I can polish my intentions, arrange my colour palettes, build scaffolding around ideas. There is no danger there! Only divine potential. The doors are locked, but in a comfortable way.

But that safety is perhaps a lie. In that room of perfect plans, nothing ever truly lives. The sketches lie dormant; the paint is untouched. Everything always in draft. In the Kingdom, life is deferred. But it feels safe in there. Nothing goes wrong inside this plan, because nothing actually happens inside this plan.

You can’t fail at something you never start.

It’s a variant of self-sabotage: not by destruction, but by delay. By creating a bureaucratic infinity of plans so that “the real work” never arrives. It’s all elaborate ways of avoiding the “vulnerable” act of actually making something that could be judged. In effect, one is always preparing to produce, rather than producing. It disguises itself as having high standards, as caring about your craft! In reality it’s just fear. Fear of making something bad, of wasting time, of choosing the wrong direction!

This Aeon essay on self-sabotage argues that our internal architecture is divided: that part of us recoils from exposure. That success terrifies us as much as failure does. That inner judges hover, waiting to ricochet every attempt off a wall of need for perfection.

What if it is rubbish? What if I choose wrongly? What if people see the cracks? The Kingdom prospers on that voice, feeding it with finer and finer plans until nothing else stands.

Overplanning becomes the safety net. As long as I’m still experimenting and planning I haven’t failed. yet. I can delay judgment. The potential is still intact. Hallelujah! It’s a little bit like Schrödinger’s painting.

Our inner saboteur protects us by immobilising. Doing nothing feels safer than doing it badly.

Yet the only way out is through: by doing, by starting something imperfect. The bridge between vision and execution is forged by movement, not more mental construction.

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There’s this quote by Ira Glass that I always come back to that I love:

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good... But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you... It’s only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap.”

So, what did I do about this conundrum?

The answer, unfortunately, is quite simple and boring. A few weeks ago, I had a commission due. Deadlines have always been a good way for me to yank myself out of a fog. They are excellent anti-procrastination devices!!

And then (plot twist!) I finished it. And it was good?! Not perfect, but good. Which reminded me and my brain that I am actually capable of finishing things!!! Huzzah!

So since then I’ve been painting (and finishing paintings!) again. I am currently working on multiple pieces at once (please pray for me) and the studio is back to its familiar state of productive chaos. Which honestly feels like a big relief.

I don’t want to make this into some neat “and then I learned this lesson” story, because I’ll probably forget all of this and do it again in six months, when the work will change again and my body will freeze again like it’s encountered a snake, which I also have an irrational fear of.

I do want to close with this though:
I am not at all saying you should never make plans or research or brainstorm. I love brainstorming. I love researching. Gathering references, diving into ideas, building out the world of the work are some of my favourite parts of the process. They are part of the Kingdom of Doing. But I want to remind you (and myself): don’t get stuck in that phase so much that you forget to actually pick up the paintbrush. Or the pen, or guitar, or sewing needle or insert tool/thing of choice.

Don’t let the prep become the project. It’s action that creates clarity. that creates momentum.

My brain and ideas are still moving faster than my hands and the castle made of plans is still beautiful and tempting. But here is what helped me:

1. asking: Is this helping me make the work or this helping me avoid making the work?

2. creating constraints: any practical tools to force motion (i.e. deadlines, setting a timer, have someone/something hold you accountable etc.). Imperfect constraints are better than perfect inaction.

3. acting anyway: I know. I know. Easier said than done! But start small. start messy. start somewhere. just start. make it exist first, you can make it good later.

_

Anywayyy!

How are you doing? Are you team overplanning or team chaos? (Is there a secret third option where you have your life together? If so, please share.) Drop a comment if you’re also a recovering overplanner. We can form a support group. We’ll plan it meticulously.

If you’re also stuck in the planning phase, building elaborate castles that never quite materialise into actual work: I see you. We’re in this together. We’re in very well-organised, perfectly mood-boarded company.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some questionable paintings to finish.

Speak soon,
Elisabeth (or Theo if you like)
_
Hello there!
I’m an artist and painter based in Vienna, Austria.
Here on Substack, I share my thoughts, sketches, ideas, and the little bits and pieces that gather in my studio as I work through the highs & lows of being an artist, and everything in between. If that sounds like something you’d like to follow along with, subscribe to stay in the loop.

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psa: not going to lie, this is probably going to be a long one, because we do tend to ramble on here. So grab a coffee, tea, beverage of choice (don’t forget your water) and a snack and let’s go.

happy monday, my dearest, darling readers,
greetings!

How are you?
How was your weekend?

mine was filled with painting commissions (currently chasing deadlines), lots of coffee, but I was also able to squeeze in some much needed friend (one of my best friends is back from being away and it’s so good to have her back) and me time (aka books and gym time) and some time for personal work (delightful!).

Speaking of personal work!

As I’ve mentioned in my last post, I’ve been feeling a shift currently (and by currently I mean for the past 6-8 months or so) happening in my work and the more I work through this shift the more I’m leaving behind not only those awkward beginning stages, where nothing really looks and feels like anything, but also that weird middle stage. You know the stage. The one where everything looks and feels insane, and you sort of wanna cry, but you also see flickers of things that do work, so you decide to trust yourself, and the skills you built and just keep going? That stage.

Actually, I might be exaggerating. There have not been any tears (yet?).

Soooo, as part of this whole fabulous journey, I’ve been experimenting. A lot. Those experiments will be shared sooner or later, I promise, I just have to compile them in a sort of way that they make sense and formulate my thoughts. But, I’m essentially gathering ingredients and then seeing how I can incorporate them into my cooking. And all of this is taking me approximately a bajillion (give or take) years. Which is fine! because I guess technically there’s not really an end point, considering the work is always changing, I’m always changing, and being an artist is basically just living in a state of perpetual beta forever and ever. (also I am not trying to rush things, and also, I actually enjoy the time it takes. It’s all part of the process! stirring things around in my creative cauldron, gathering said ingredients, waiting for them to simmer and the potion will become whatever it’s meant to be.)

Anyyyyway, this is a very long-winded way to say that I’ve been really really really really enjoying making these very very loose and fun drawings in my sketchbooks.

For the longest time I have been (and still am) chasing, nay yearning, to get more loose with my art. I think for the past 4?? years that goal has been in every single one of my yearly intentions lists but let me tell you. It is not an easy thing to do. Simple in theory, maddening in practice. Especially when your instincts trend toward overthinking and tight control. (Hi, hello, it’s me. Hi. I’m the problem, it’s me)

All that to saayyyyy again (cue dramatic arm flail), since I’ve been stirring this strange and wonderful, chaotic cauldron of change (pls someone make this into a song), I thought I’d try to share a bit of what this...metamorphosis? phase? has been like.

And what better place to start than with the root, the heart of it all: inspiration or whatever we’re supposed to call that slippery thing that makes you want to get up and make something.

This is not necessarily a how-to, but more of a “here’s what I do”, and maybe, hopefully, I can inspire you as well. like a “here’s what I’m learning as I crawl through it.” (I realise that this doesn’t work for my cauldron metaphor, and I apologise)

Now. I want to preface this by saying that I am a firm believer that you shouldn’t rely on inspiration or motivation to create or make or do in general.

To shamelessly quote one my own Patreon posts:

“I've never been a fan of making the act of creating dependent on inspiration. I'm a firm believer that you don't need inspiration to create.

There's this quote from Picasso: "Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working."

There are a lot of things to be said about Picasso (and a lot of them not so good), but on this point, I wholeheartedly agree. What really cemented this thought/belief are commissions and client work. When working on a commission, you don't have the luxury of waiting around till the muse knocks on your door and blesses you with inspiration-fairy-dust. You have a deadline, and you just have to start. Yes, maybe it's a little bit awkward at first, but after a while, you suddenly gain momentum, and things begin to flow. And it all starts because you showed up. Not because you were inspired but because you started.”

Inspiration and motivation are way too fickle and, like I said before, too slippery to rely on, in my humble opinion.

technically inspiration is defined as “someone or something that gives you ideas for doing something” (Cambridge), or “the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative” (Google Dictionary), and Merriam-Webster writes that inspiration is „an inspiring agent or influence“ and Wikipedia tells us that inspiration refers to “Artistic inspiration as sudden creativity in artistic production.” or more specifically: “Inspiration (from the Latin inspirare, meaning "to breathe into") is a burst of creativity in a literary, musical, or visual art and other artistic endeavours without thinking.”

Cool, cool, cool. so we know what inspiration is. Sort of.

There’s always this air of magic surrounding inspiration isn’t there? Like inspiration strikes when you least expect it and so on.

Personally, I hate sitting around and waiting for this aforementioned fairy dust to fall on me (although wouldn’t complain). Also, I am way too impatient to wait around to be swept away by the art gods or touched by some magical art spirit (although, again, would love that for me). Also (part two), one nice thing about art school was that my course was very much focused on ideation and concepts and while that had it downsides (again, we can talk about this some other time) we did learn some useful things along the way and one of those was to NOT wait around till inspiration strikes.

So question is, can we actually get this burst of creativity on purpose?
As someone who is a very practical and efficient person, who also loves solutions, I DO feel that there are ways to get into this flowy state we’re all wishing for. Or as I like to say, there are practical ways that I found to feed that chaotic little art gremlin that lives in my brain (sometimes I call it my inner feral art rat, depending on which state I’m in).
I call it Milo.

All that to sayyyyyy (part twenty), let’s talk about how to stay inspired, have ideas, how to nurture them, and how to get into that delightful flow state we all crave. or here’s what worked for me. or really: here is this one very specific thing.

Now, despite not wanting to rely on inspiration in order to show up, I’ve been in a highly inspired phase for a while (obviously not with the same intensity every day). Not to be dramatic (although who am I kidding, really), but I think I might be in my idea-forging era (important to note: I am not saying they’re all good ideas. some of them are disasters. some of them are not.). I mean I’ve been having so many thoughts, and sparks and “what if I tried this” moments that I can’t keep up inspired. I mean “scribbling frantic notes on the back of a receipt while standing in line” inspired. I mean “half-asleep voice memo that makes no sense in the morning” inspired.
But also, I’ve never felt more excited to make things.

!!!This is not coming from a place of, “oh look at me go, I’m so full of brilliance with all of my amazing ideas” (I assure you, they’re not) but from a place of “I’ve been stuck for such a long time and so scared and timid and afraid and overthinking” and I was very much led by the fear of “ruining” something, of something “not-being-good-enough” etc. etc. which led to wanting to create but not creating, and feeling very creatively blocked and drained!!!

So what changed you may ask. (or you may not, but I’m going to tell you anyway)

Looking back one of my biggest problems was judgement. Anytime I had a thought, an idea, a slither of something I’d immediately judge it.

I would swat them away, mid-thought, like a mosquito: no, not that one, too weird, too obvious, too sentimental, too ugly, too done, too simple, not good enough, not serious enough, not interesting enough blablabla. and then I’d sit there in the silence, like, why aren’t I having any ideas lately?? why am I feeling so un-inspired??

(again this is just me, there are a lot of reasons for being creatively blocked or feeling uninspired. maybe you need to simply give yourself a break and take a nap)

To make a long story short, at some point I thought hey what if, and hear me out, I stop judging my ideas before I even let them exist? (radical, I know!) What if I stopped playing creative bouncer in my own brain? (*insert shocked Pikachu face)

which is where the notebook comes in.

I’ve always been a big journaler or notebook keeper.
A scribbler. A hoarder of paper scraps, ephemera and weird thoughts. A collector of things. But there came a time when I suddenly had this belief that something need to be “of value” (whatever that even means) before I wrote it down, as if the paper and the ink where too precious to waste for anything other than brilliance (which is absolutely tragic, stupid and yes I-blame-Art-School™️ for this). like, okay, well, now we’ve just built an empty shrine to the Idea That Never Lived, congrats to all involved.

So, I started carrying around a tiny little notebook everywhere I go. This was key. I didn’t want the notebook to be precious or intimidating. I’m not coming up with the next brilliant painting, just jotting down the brain farts as they come. A weirdly shaped tree. A conversation overheard on the tram. The way the light hits your coffee cup just right at 3:27 pm.

It was diary, sketchbook, notebook, to-do list book, quotes book, research book. Everything at once. Nothing was too insignificant to put into this book.

When I say wrote (and write) everything down, I mean everything. Every half-baked thought, every strange or silly idea, every fleeting moment of curiosity, every detail that captured my attention…I wrote/write it all down.

and this built something. like a loop. a trust. my brain started offering up more ideas, more regularly, because it knew I wasn’t going to immediately kill them.

and I think that’s kind of the whole point? or at least, it’s the thing I’ve been learning (slowly, stubbornly, while tripping over my own expectations (and letting them go, or trying to at least):

creativity isn’t just about making things. it’s about noticing things. it’s about collecting things.

and then making something because you noticed.

which brings me to one of my favourite quotes of all time:

“pay attention to what you pay attention to”
- Amy Krouse Rosenthal

Not only was I building a well of inspiration to pull from, but once I realised those were the things showing up in my notebook, again and again, it felt like a breadcrumb trail back to my own voice. like: oh. this is what I care about. this is what’s shaping (or maybe should be?) my work, even if I don’t always realise it while I’m doing it.

also: I’m slowly learning that the things I care about don’t have to make sense to anyone else. my interests can be sprawling and strange and deeply „uncool“ and still worthy of attention. I’m not a factory. I’m a field. and sometimes weird things grow there.

I’m interested in so many different things—history, mythology, books, fantasy worlds, language, art history, sports, folklore, video games, etc.—and it’s taken me a long time to realise that all of these interests are a well of inspiration or at least they feed the well that feeds inspiration. They’re not distractions. They’re resources.

And I think as artists, it’s so important not to get so wrapped up in the work that you forget to actually live your life. Your experiences, hobbies, and interests (etc etc) are what make your work uniquely yours. If you don’t allow yourself to be curious, to dive into the things that light you up, you’ll end up running on empty. And I don’t just mean “curious” in the traditional sense, like researching a subject or reading a book. I mean the little, everyday curiosities too. like the way the sunlight hits your window at a certain time of day, or the pattern on your friend’s sweater, or the strange way a plant is growing in your yard, the fabulous coffee mug in a magazine. Those little moments can be just as inspiring as the big, sweeping ones.

I also just want to say, because I feel like it’s important: none of this is a quick fix. It’s a slow, have-to-trust-the-process kind of thing. You just (what a tricky word) have to keep doing it. It’s the work happening before the work. All of it is part of “the painting”. Even if I haven’t picked up a brush yet.

So I guess my one piece of advice is
Write.✍️ It. ✍️ All. ✍️ Down. ✍️( doesn’t have to be a physical notebook btw, you can totally use the notesapp, my personal favourite app on my phone, my brain just works better with pen and paper)

Notice things. Pay attention. Honour your dumb ideas. Your strange thoughts. be curious. research things. follow the strange, weird little things you care about.

Become a collector of those things. Your job is to gather everything that sparks something in you: thoughts, phrases, images, colours, shapes, textures, quotes, memories, stories, facts, anything that feels exciting or interesting. Collect it all. even if it don’t “make sense” yet. even if it never does. that’s fine.

we’re not here to be efficient (which was (still is honestly, I loooove being efficient) a tough lesson to learn, let me tell you).
we’re here to notice.

Because if you do this long enough, you realise you’ve built your own little library. your own museum of fragments. and when you sit down to make something, you’re not starting from scratch. you’re pulling from this weird, rich, deeply you archive (which sounds obnoxious and slightly cringe (although I hate that word) but it is true). And I think the more you add to this library, the more you feed that little art gremlin in your brain (or inner feral rat, or chaotic muse, or whatever you like to call it), the more it will start leaving you presents or at least show up. The point is, you’re not running on empty, you have this whole well, this library, this collection to pull from. You’re not trying to conjure something from nothing.

I see it as I’m building conditions for inspiration to show up. Not forcing it. Not demanding brilliance on command. Just...making a space where it might want to visit you know?

Also, shockingly, I’ve been learning that sometimes the best thing you can do for your work is to step away from it. Take a break. Like, close the sketchbook. Literally. Put the pencil down. Step away from the canvas. Go outside. Listen to some birds. Or music. Or take a nap. Scroll Pinterest for two hours and call it “visual research,” I don’t care. The point is: you can’t squeeze something good out of the work by holding it in a death grip. (which to me sounds instantly suspicious but I fear it is working)

There’s this very intense energy that can creep in when I’m working on something, especially if I’m working on something that I deem as “important”, like, “if I just push harder, something will happen,” and sometimes that’s true but more often, for me at least, it just leads to a kind of creative tunnel vision. Everything starts to feel too precious or too fragile or too frustrating. And that’s when I know I’ve gotten too tense, too tight, too verkrampft. Too clenched. Too in-my-own-way. (what me? in my own way?!)

And I think this notebook practice is really helping me with that. It’s by my side whenever I notice something, or I want to capture a weird thought. Things in there are loose. Messy. Imperfect. Unfinished. Un-serious(!!!!!). Which is actually kind of huge, because like I said for the longest time I had this deep, unspoken belief that if something wasn’t clearly leading somewhere, if it wasn’t “useful”, then it was a waste of time or not worthy of capturing.

It’s kind of like, you’re still in motion even when you’re technically taking a break for example. You’re still feeding the work. Your little art gremlin. Your inspiration. But, you know, in gentle way. You’re not trying to force feed it. Which tends to work better for me than trying to brute-force my way through a dry spell. (weird, who knew??)

Basically I’ve been learning that staying close to the work doesn’t always mean making the work. Sometimes that means researching something. Paying attention. Writing down something dumb. Sometimes it’s going for a walk. Trust me when I say, that your brain is still doing something behind the scenes, even if you’re just lying on the floor eating a snack.

And this is also why I really, truly believe you have to trust what you’re interested in (and write it down!!!). Even if it seems random. Even if it feels irrelevant. Even if it leads you down a weird rabbit hole that makes no sense in the moment. Because that’s often where things click later. Like your brain’s been quietly gathering puzzle pieces, and suddenly, they just... line up. and then BOOM! Inspiration!

I’ve been blabbing on for too long, so that’s all. I think. For now at least.
if you’re reading this far, thank you. thank you for being here. I hope you feel encouraged to gather your weird ideas like tiny treasures and treat them like they matter. because they do.

more soon. probably about sketchbooks.

it’s now 12:38am and I should be asleep but I’m not. so. okay. goodnight

xx
Elisabeth (or Theo if you like)

also, hi, hello, hallo, γειά σας, bonjour, salve, pls enjoy this reintroduction and chaotic studio update :)

it’s been a minute (and by “a minute” I mean: multiple months, several finished paintings, several unfinished ones, piles of messy sketches, lots of experiments, at least three identity crises, all art-related (if you’re new here, hi, I tend to be a tad dramatic), and one studio reorganisation. oops.)

okay. so. I didn’t post for a while but I was making things the whole time I swear.
I’m just really really bad at sharing them. (what else is new?)

Couple of days ago I shared this (↑) photo of my sketchbooks of tomato drawings, and since then there are some new faces on here (hi, welcome to the chaos, so happy that you’re here, pls enjoy your stay). first and foremost, thank you SO much for the insane amount of love on my silly little tomato drawings. you made my silly little heart feel very full and happy. and second i thought, that this might be a good opportunity to re-introduce myself and also get the blog finally up and running.

my name is Elisabeth (friends call me Theo, so please feel free to do so as well).
I am a full-time artist and painter. I am half Greek, half Austrian and lived in both countries.
When I’m not painting or drawing i love to write (fantasy and bad poetry), read (mostly fantasy but really whatever i can get my grabby little hands on), i love video games (also mostly fantasy),
i love (and need) my alone time but i equally love being around the people i adore and occasionally get into very unserious shenanigans with (i’m incredibly lucky and grateful to be surrounded by the dearest, brilliant, magical, funny, chaotic, most wonderful weirdos. if you’re one of my weirdos reading this: thank you for being in my life and bearing with me through all the chaos, 3 a.m. ramble texts of Very Important Thoughts™ and not running for the hills when I send you 18 versions of the same painting. ily),
i am a big collector of things (more on that in a future post),
i can’t go a day without listening to music,
i love sports (all kinds really, but especially lifting heavy things for fun aka weightlifting, and do that almost every day of the week, ice skating, swimming, hiking, roller skating, skiing (although I haven’t done that in a while), and I'm currently looking into getting into boxing but emphasis on looking right now, because trying new things is scary, okay?),
i love dancing (badly, but with full dramatic commitment),
i tend to spiral into all-consuming little obsession holes, sometimes those obsessions show up in my paintings, sometimes I keep them to myself,
i have about 15 piercings on my ears, one septum piercing, no tattoos (yet), would love to own a motorcycle (a girl can dream. but I have a very rational fear of breaking my spine. which is a dilemma.),
for the astrology-curious among you: I’m a Taurus sun, Sagittarius moon, Cancer rising. I mean…no one is surprised, right?
I drink probably too much coffee, and i love (and I mean I looove) food (which maybe you can guess when looking at my work ↓)

As I've already wrote about in this post back in January, I have a serious obsession with colour and I’m on a constant hunt for new and odd colour combinations that tickle a specific part of my brain and make my (and hopefully your) eyeballs happy. Art has always been an escape for me, so I always describe my work as painting worlds I want to live in.

Ok, so now that I’ve formally introduced myself, in case you’re wondering what I’ve been painting/doing instead of posting I thought I’d share a bit about what’s been occupying my brain lately: intentions, shifts, and anchoring myself. The last couple of months have been very…transformative?

But let me set the scene first:
it’s me, sitting in the studio, surrounded by a somewhat clean workspace, a cup of coffee that’s gone lukewarm because I forgot about it (again) because I’ve been entirely too consumed by painting and experimenting and obsessing over my work. I don’t have anything grand or new to share (but soon!)—there’s stuff in the works, but it’s not ready to meet the world (yet!). So nothing shiny to unveil just yet (I'm making a lot but I’m just keeping it close— for now)

So like I mentioned, my brain has been noodling away about my work, my practice over the past few months. Specifically: what I want to focus on, what I want to let go of, and what kind of energy I’m bringing into the studio. And most importantly the work I want to make.

Every now and then I notice a sort of shift happening in my work, where I’m almost craving to evolve. Which is always exciting but also slightly terrifying. Over on my Patreon (currently paused, but will be up and running in June again (hopefully)) I described it like this: “It’s that feeling when the work starts to feel too safe, too much like a comfort zone I’ve been lingering in for a bit too long. It’s where I’m sort of itching for something more, to push myself, because I’ve worked too long in the same way, and the work suddenly feels like it’s very much IN a comfort zone, and I want OUT.”

The way I’m going about this is basically being consumed by painting and drawing and experimenting and obsessing over my work. (again to quote a previous Patreon Post: "am I overthinking this whole thing, overcomplicating things and obsessing unnecessarily?" Which probably, definitely, yes, BUT ALSO: art is (such a vital part of) my life, and I do make my living with it, and I think it would be a disservice to both myself and the work if I don’t give my all. (also I am trying to accept myself as I am, and I am a passionate person, who will obsess and overthink and do too much from time to time. especially about things that feel vital to her being. and you know what? that is fine. yay for self-acceptance.)

To clarify, whilst I am feeling a shift in my work, I don’t necessarily mean that I’m abandoning the way I work and my work completely and starting something entirely new. I want to „experiment“ with what is already here and to deepen it. (It will make more sense when I share the process, I promise. I hope.)

Anyway, all that to say, what that leads me to is my one big goal that I had and still have for this year, and that is

I just want to make things.

That’s it. That’s the whole post. Bye, see you Friday!

I’m just kidding!

(Although, truly, that’s the heart of it.)

the big goal

While I have come a long way, which is wonderful and glorious (!!!), even now, with all the progress I’ve made, fear still lingers. Lurking in the background. Fear of failing, of getting it wrong, of not being good enough, of wasting time. It shows up in different ways: perfectionism (been there, suffered through that), procrastination, overthinking, the endless loop of planning instead of doing.

overall my one big goal for 2025 was and still is: create. make. paint. draw. do.

messy things, ugly things, weird things, meaningful things, not so meaningful things, beautiful things, inspiring things, mystical things, overly ambitious things, chaotic things, tiny things, big things. To experiment, to deepen, to push myself. To paint things I’m proud of and things I’m not. To shed even more of the timidness that’s followed me throughout my life and lean into the courage it takes to JUST DO without the ever seductive overthinking dance (or maybe regardless of that).

So, why I am even telling you all this?

Hopefully to inspire you, and also I want this space to mirror this focus on making. To be a little scrapbook of the journey—notes from painting days, progress shots, the weird and wonderful experiments that may or may not go anywhere. The Studio Debris. To chronicle not just the work but the life that surrounds it.

Because creativity doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s tangled up in everything—the state of the world, the weather, the music playing in the background, the books we’re reading, the people we’re meeting, the things we’re looking at and paying attention to, the conversations we’re having. the things we’re collecting and obsessing over (more on that in a separate post). And I think that’s worth sharing, too (also to beat the fear that it’s not interesting enough or worthwhile).

I want to share more of the doing. The in-progress moments that feel too raw or incomplete to post anywhere else. This feels like the right space for that—less pressure, more freedom. A place where I can share the unpolished, unfiltered version of the process, of the making, the doing.

The good, the bad, and the chaotic.

I think there’s something valuable in that—in letting people see the work as it happens (which immediately feels irrationally scary to say write down btw).

And I don’t want to shy away from that—because the more I’ve leaned into documenting my process, the more I’ve realised how much it feeds the work itself. Taking photos of half-finished pieces, of the stray thoughts written down in the margins of sketchbooks, letting myself get nerdy about the research phase™ (or rather showing and sharing it)—it all becomes part of the story, part of the work. (i have a list of things I want to remember hanging in the studio and one of the items on that list is "The Work Continues Beyond the Studio", so that perfectly aligns with that)

All that to say: welcome to Studio Debris.
For now, I want to be posting Mondays (just pretend it’s Monday) and Fridays (please feel free to hold me accountable).

Well that is the plan anyway. We shall see how it will unfold.

Thanks for being here. Whether you’re a new reader or someone who’s followed my work for a while, I’m so glad to be sharing again. I’ll be back on Friday with the first Weekly Studio Debris — part studio recap, part sketchbook soup.

In the meantime, go drink some water, look at a cloud, or maybe (finally?) share those drawings you’ve been too scared to share and hiding for no good reason.

Speak Friday,
Elisabeth (or Theo, if you like)