Lessons in showing up from my 100-day project

What I learnt about devotion, resistance, and trusting the slow magic of art

100 days of art. It sounds impressive, even a little daunting, perhaps. Until you think of all the things that you do every day without even thinking about them.

So why is it so difficult to commit to a 100 day project? And why does the idea of it feel so intimidating?

I’ve done the 100 day project a few times before, often finishing it too, though it’s always taken me much longer than 100 days to finish it. I also have a few failed projects — the ones that I just couldn’t stick with or commit wholeheartedly to.

This is the first time I’ve finished a 100 day project in 100 days, and for the first time, I experienced what it feels like to cross that finish line within the stipulated period.

I had no grand ambitions at the start of this project. I simply wanted to reconnect with my dwindling art practice. Despite spending some time at the painty table most weeks, I had been feeling disconnected from my art — maybe, since I quit my 9 to 5, I no longer saw it as a refuge, a means to unwind after a stressful day at work. And while I still enjoyed my painting sessions, there was no urgency attached to it…nothing really pulling me to the painty table.

So I made myself a simple promise: to show up every day for 100 days, splash some paint on the pages, and see what happened if I did this consistently.

Would I find that connection with my art practice again? What shape would it take in my new reality? And more importantly, would I be able to show up for 100 days consecutively? I didn’t say it out loud…I didn’t even commit to it…but somewhere deep inside, I knew that I wanted that 100 day streak.

Now, having reached the end of my project, with a 100 day streak (and counting — I’m currently at a 119 day streak), I can say the process taught me much more than I expected. Not just about making art, but about showing up gently, navigating resistance, and learning to trust the slow magic of small creative acts.

Here are five lessons I’ve learnt from those 100 days. Maybe some of these will help you with your creative practice, too?

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5 lessons I learnt from my 100 day project

The art of the reframe: A couple of weeks into my 100 day project, I was thinking about why I’ve always shied away from committing to any practice. It turned out that for me, commitment is entwined with discipline. And in my mind, there’s a stern authoritarianism connected to that word. It brings to mind the strict discipline of the classroom and the tyranny of the diet industry, which makes little to no space for anything other than an obsessive fixation on calories and grams of protein.

But when I reframed how I think about commitment — not as discipline, but as devotion — something shifted for me, making it much easier for me to show up to the painty table every day.

If you struggle with commitment, with practice, try to untangle what that concept is entwined it. And then see if shifting the way you think about practice or discipline or commitment to your art or creative practice unlocks something for you.

Your feelings about your creative practice are unreliable: We’ve all felt resistance towards our creative practice. Those days when the last thing you want to do is paint or write or knit.

But one of the biggest things I’ve learned through this 100 day project is that resistance towards the creative process is a shapeshifter. It can show up as fatigue, fear, perfectionism, self-doubt, or even boredom.

Learning how to recognize, and overcome creative resistance, has been an important part of my journey through my daily art journaling practice. I’ve shared my insights here — I hope they help you navigate your own creative resistance, no matter how it shows up for you!

The cumulative power of short studio sessions: We sometimes tend to think that we need to clear a significant chunk of time to devote to our creative practice, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Small chunks of time build up over time, and art done in short bursts can be built up into a beautiful body of work. Many of my paintings are done in short periods of time over a number of days, but it all adds up. So the next time you find yourself thinking that you don’t have enough time, challenge that assumption! Try working in short bursts and see how it goes!

Cultivate internal validation: There’s a certain freedom in creating for yourself. Not for an algorithm. Not for Instagram. Not thinking about how you’re going to film your process or frame your finished journal page, not obsessing over how many likes your latest posts gets, frees you up to be as experimental, or repetitive, as you would like to be with your art.

There is a school of thought that thinks that art should be shared — if that’s something that appeals to you, by all means, share away. But it isn’t necessary. Before the age of social media (and I’m sure even today), there are many “closet artists” — people who create because they must, not to share their creations and seek validation from an external audience.

But it can be tricky, sometimes, to cultivate internal validation. I shared some suggestions on how you can start to notice, love, and appreciate what you enjoy without needing to seek external approval in the post linked below.

The myth of maintaining a creative streak: I’ve spoken about the importance of a consistent creative practice often, but I’m not so sure that maintaining a creative streak — the exhortation to “don’t break the chain” — is the best advice out there.

Creative fallow periods are a reality of the artist’s life and are regenerative. I can’t help but wonder, if we are so focused on maintaining a creative streak, where is the time for creative restoration?

This is a nuanced conversation that I’ve spoken to in one of the previous issues of Studio Diaries, linked below.

There you have it — five lessons from my studio to yours! I’d love to hear which of these suggestions resonated with you. Hit reply, or leave a comment below, and let me know?

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