It’s fascinating to imagine Jackson Pollock pacing around his massive canvasses, flinging paint in large gestural movements. Then there’s Georgia O’Keefe whose meticulous care and documentation contradicted the soft sensuality of her images. Or Dorothy Napangardi’s breathtaking spatial sensibility and compositional drama.

It’s not just that every artist’s outcomes are immeasurably different, but also that every step each one takes in their artistic process is distinctly personal, nuanced by training, experience, personality, circumstances, and materials.

In my case, I sometimes wonder if I spend more time gazing and thinking than actually painting. First, there’s a rush of enthusiasm – I have a brilliant idea, a vision of a colour or effect that looks amazing in my mind. I might start by mixing colours to get just the right hue. I might paint a layer or two intuitively to get the feel of something emerging on the canvas.

Then comes the thinking. Walking around the canvas, looking from every angle. Looking harder. Looking again. The process here is a little murky – my brain is interpreting what my eyes see, and transforming it into what it could become. I replay this multiple times – there are infinite possibilities. Eventually (sometimes not until after coffee) I see or sense something that takes me forward, and I feel I can continue painting.

While I spend a good deal of time carefully prepping canvasses, mixing and trialling materials, other parts of my process are a curious mix of spontaneity, considered action, and chance.

I don’t have Pollock’s frenetic energy, O’Keefe’s detailed attention, or Napangardi’s intuition. But each path I take to create a painting is my own adventure, and although I may encounter fear or doubt, or get waylaid along the way, I mostly feel joy and I am thankful for the opportunity for self-determination and self-expression.

I intend to do plenty more looking, thinking, drinking coffee, and painting.