How I Accidentally Found My Creative Ritual

If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint

– Edward Hopper

For the past few months, I’ve been avoiding painting.

Not because I stopped loving it.
Not because I ran out of ideas.

But because every time I sat down to paint, I felt like I was fighting myself.

I mean, i do know the fundamentals. Light. Shadow. Color theory. and all that art stuff. I understand what should work. And yet, when I started painting, I would mix things up, overcorrect, overthink – and end up with something that, technically, might not be “bad”… but didn’t feel right (well atleast to me).

Other people might say, “It’s great.”
But I didn’t like it.

And that’s worse.

Even at work, we have this art studio where i end up spending time with one of my friends. Even there, during our long art sessions where we sit for hours and create, I wasn’t doing as well as I wanted to. I wasn’t terrible. But I wasn’t satisfied either.

So slowly, quietly, I started avoiding it.

The Pattern I Didn’t Notice

Usually, when I felt like painting, I would just jump into it.

My desk? A little cluttered most days.
My house? Clean – but not intentional, it still is a bit messy somewhere.
My process? Open reference image -> start painting -> hope it works.

Its usually cluttered with a lot of things

Sometimes it did.
Sometimes it didn’t.

There was no transition. No shift. No entry into the act.

Just pure action.

A few days ago, I was about to do the same thing again.

And then something changed.

The Voice

Out of nowhere, a thought came up:

“Workspace should be clean. It’s your place of creativity.”

It wasn’t dramatic. Just calm. Clear. Maybe it was because i just got up from a nap? I’m not sure.

So I cleaned my desk.

While cleaning, I noticed dishes in the kitchen that weren’t washed.

Another thought:
“Let’s clean the kitchen.”

Then clothes.
“Let’s fold and arrange them properly.”

One thing led to another.

I didn’t rush it. I didn’t argue with it. I just followed it.

By the time I was done, the house felt different.

And so did I.

The Ritual

Before starting, I paused.

Instead of immediately opening my reference and attacking the canvas, I did something new. Well, its not new new – but its something that i used to do it long back and i actually liked it.

I played a record.

I do like Mozart

Lit a candle.

And half-jokingly, half-seriously, I said out loud to whoever was out there:

“I’m going to paint. Please be there.”

It sounds ridiculous.

But it felt right.

Not like I was summoning some mystical entity – but like I was acknowledging that painting isn’t just technical execution. It’s a state.

And I was asking to enter it.

The Flow

I picked up one of my bigger canvases.

Started blocking in colors.

Added shadows.

Adjusted tones.

Blended transitions.

And then something strange happened.

I lost track of time.

Three… maybe four hours passed.

I wasn’t fighting the canvas.
I wasn’t arguing with color theory in my head.
I wasn’t overcorrecting every brush stroke.

Even the grass and trees – which I usually struggle with and secretly hate painting – came out really well.

When I finally stepped back, I didn’t cringe.

I actually liked what I saw.

Not because it was perfect.

But because it felt aligned.

I swear i cleaned it before i started painting here

What Actually Happened?

I don’t think I magically became a better painter overnight.

I think I changed my state.

When my space was cluttered, my mind was cluttered.

Every dish in the sink.
Every unfolded shirt.
Every random object on my desk.

They weren’t just physical distractions – they were open loops.

Tiny unfinished signals running in the background.

By cleaning everything first, I closed those loops.

I freed mental bandwidth?

And then the candle and music? That wasn’t superstition.

It was a threshold.

I didn’t just start painting.

I entered painting.

There’s a difference.

The Ego Shift

There was another subtle change.

When I said, “Please be there,” I removed pressure.

I wasn’t trying to prove that I understood light theory.

I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

I wasn’t trying to beat my last painting.

I was inviting creativity instead of demanding performance.

And that shift lowered the noise in my head.

That’s when flow showed up.

Maybe This Is the Key

Maybe creativity isn’t forced.

Maybe it’s prepared for.

Maybe the “voice” inside us isn’t mystical or dramatic.

Maybe it’s just pattern recognition – our deeper mind noticing what blocks us and gently suggesting alignment.

I’ve painted many times before.

But this was the first time I consciously created space – physically and mentally – before beginning.

And it changed everything.

What I’m Taking From This

I didn’t summon artistic spirits that night.

I removed resistance.

And when resistance drops, creativity doesn’t have to fight its way in.

It’s already there.

Maybe the key isn’t to push harder.

Maybe it’s to listen when the quiet voice says:

“Clean this first.”
“Slow down.”
“Prepare.”

Because sometimes, flow isn’t something you chase.

It’s something you make room for!