The Unfortunate Texture Incident of 2026
My inner critic strikes again, a failed experiment, and an unexpected insight
I am not sure what this is, but it flowed out of me after “the incident” while I was playing in my art journal.
Since the moment I picked up a paintbrush, I have been a doubter. I didn’t just doubt one aspect of painting, but I doubted EVERYTHING associated with painting, myself included.
I had no belief that I could:
Teach myself how to paint
Paint something that actually resembled what I was painting
Figure out things to paint
Someday call myself an artist
Paint things people would want to buy
Now, six years into my painting journey, I still have doubts. They’re not the same as previous doubts, but I still have more doubts than one person should be allowed to carry.
My updated list of doubts:
I successfully taught myself to paint, but I still feel I missed some lessons (but aren’t we all always learning?)
I can paint objects, but not in a photo-realistic manner, which makes me feel like I can’t do it at all. (I may be a bit too hard on myself here)
Although I don’t have any issues figuring out what to paint, I still think I am not creative enough. (a voice in my head I did not put there)
Yes, I now call myself an artist, but I still have huge imposter syndrome at least 75% of the time. (It used to be 100%, so I am making progress!)
And after 14 art shows, I still don’t paint things people want to buy 🙁, but a better way to put it is that my work isn’t resonating with the world the way I’d hoped. (Yes, I got tons of great feedback, but the ultimate resonance is selling, and even though I sold paintings, it was not as much as I had hoped)
Since I love to paint and share my creations with the world AND want people to love (and buy) my art, I feel I must tackle the doubts and do some serious inquiry to determine my path forward. Do I need to embark on an art style change, an attitude change, both, or something completely different?
What direction do I need to take to achieve my own happiness in painting and make others happy (and sell paintings, too)?
What I do know is that I do like my abstract paintings, but they are not resonating enough to result in sales. Now, I can, and have, reasoned this away by saying, “Oh, well, I just have not found my people yet,” but every time it comes out of my mouth, I hear the word “bullshit” in my head. I am inclined to believe that whisper word.
So, that begs the question, what is wrong with my art? Or, better put, why aren’t people buying my art? Well, actually, the best question is what is missing from my art.
My best guess is that there is too much going on in most of my abstract paintings, which makes them look chaotic. I have been told that by some. I have also been told that I resolve all the emotion in the painting, so there is not enough emotional tension left to attract viewers and buyers. And, one man looked over my booth in Louisville quite intently and stated, “I bet these are triggering for most people, and it will take a very special buyer to make the commitment.” Well, if that is true, maybe there is a bit to the “haven’t found my person yet?” question.
It has been suggested that I employ larger blocks of color, guide the eye through the canvas, provide resting places for the viewer, and not make all my marks evenly dispersed across the canvas. I am not sure I agree with this “critique,” but I do want to sell art.
So let’s assume I can make these changes, but then what? Will it magically result in more resonance and sales? There is no way to know until I pursue the path, which feels like a very unfortunate and unkind crapshoot.
I have to remind myself that I turned away from representational art in favor of abstract art out of frustration with my supposed inability to paint “things.” Well, upon further reflection of my art, I think I quit painting representational art too soon and did not give myself a chance to find my lane.
Both types of art frustrate me in different ways, so I am trying to peel away the layers of these thoughts and feelings to get to my truth.
What makes me happy?
What lights me up?
What do I love to paint?
To answer these questions as honestly as possible, I asked myself which style of painting I would do if there were no criticism and every piece would be happily purchased and end up in a loving, forever home.
My quick answer was both, of course, but before I could truly answer the question, I had to understand how I see the world, how I like to create, and what is most visually and emotionally important to me.
After some pretty deep introspection, I realize that I’m not a chaos-first painter, which, in my mind, is what abstract art (or at least my abstract art) is all about. Since my eye is wired for structure, the chaos I create unsettles me and demands structure.
Because I see compositions as complete systems, not fragments, I’m sensitive to imbalance and instinctively resolve tension rather than leave it raw. That wiring made me strong in book design, but in abstract painting, it created stress.
What feels authentic now is structured symbolism: a clear subject, intentional composition, and expressive disruption around a strong spine. I don’t want to dissolve the structure. I want to bend it.
And that assessment leads me back to representational art. But…
There is a part of me that wants to try to “correct” my abstract painting, and because I am not a quitter (well, I quit representational but were just gonna ignore that for now), I have to at least try.
And try I did.
I had the idea of adding modeling paste to the canvas before I started painting to create texture and visual interest. Since I love circles so much, I created swirled circles and flowing lines.
I thought for days about how I would begin to paint the canvas in a way that was not like my current style. I was nervous to start, and when I did, I was very hesitant. And I should have been. Here is the progression of the painting:
The WIP progression depicts a mind lost and descending deeper into the abyss, culminating in a fit of rage and a violently stabbed canvas.
The most horrific thing I have ever painted resulted in my stabbing and ripping the canvas. It felt good, but then I felt remorse for my anger-induced actions. Not only did I ruin a large canvas, but I ruined a great palette knife.
The shame arrived quickly and sucked me in. Bleak Victoria took the opportunity to hit me hard:
I can’t believe I made such horrible choices.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I really do suck at this painting thing.
I will never paint again.
Failure of this magnitude is strong enough to knock me down and hold me there for a while. I fight to not be overtaken by the grief of failure, and in the end, here I am, writing instead of being balled up on the floor crying my eyes out. Don’t get me wrong, that scenario sounds very good right now. But I know better; that hole is deep, and I refuse to point even a toe in that direction.
Rich was surprised that I would consider sharing this shit show of a painting with the world, but I am committed to sharing the good, the bad, and, although painful for me, the ugly. It means more to me to be honest than to be slightly humiliated. As long as I own my failure, it is mine to do with as I want.
I am going to rip the rest of the canvas from the wood frame, roll it up, place it in a garbage bag, and put it out with the trash tomorrow. Then, I will try to forget this incident (I will refer to it as the “unfortunate texture event of 2026) even occurred. I am not denying it happened, but I don’t need to be reminded of it either.
So, now that I am putting this abomination behind me, I’ll share the ironic discovery I made this morning before the “incident” went down:
There is nothing in my art process that needs to change. But how I talk about my art does need to change.
I see my art, and all art, as a whole rather than pieces. Others see the parts of the painting, and because of this, most will critique a painting on how the eye moves through the pieces. I am most concerned about the totality of the piece and the emotions it conveys. Yes, that makes me a bit different, but I don’t care.
My abstract work neither depicts a single emotion nor leaves the viewer with much tension to sit with. What it does portray is a process. A very human process that can be compared to an argument, a story arc, or even the process of introspection.
Storm ~ Exploration ~ Resolution ~ Reflection ~ Sharing
My paintings begin in emotional chaos—layers of color, movement, and raw energy—the “storm.”
As I work, those layers become the conversation, back and forth, trying to find a path forward from the emotional state—the “exploration.”
Then, as I add marks, the organization of the surface develops until the painting begins to move toward greater harmony. I stop when the argument on the canvas has been settled, and the calm feels earned—the “resolution.”
When the painting is complete, I step back, stare, and take it all in—the “reflection.”
And finally, I write about the process to understand the emotional journey I experienced while painting—the “sharing.”
Given this amazing revelation, the painting failure was even more pronounced and could have called into question everything I wrote above. But it didn’t, thankfully. I am stronger than that. I can turn an immense failure into a moment of truth that makes me a better person.
The painting was supposed to quiet my doubts and bolster my confidence. On its face, it appears to have done just the opposite. But, when I dig a bit deeper, I realize, it indeed did both and so much more.
Now, what will I paint next? Abstract or representational? Well, see!
Thanks for joining me on this journey.
Victoria