When Your Art (or Workshop) Gets Overwhelmed by Good Intentions

Have you ever started something creative with the best intentions—only to realize halfway through that it’s become… a bit much?

That was me yesterday.

I hosted one of my free monthly Zoom calls for Substack readers.

These calls are meant to be a soft place to land—a way to explore the real things that get in the way of a consistent art practice: perfectionism, procrastination, doubt, fear of being seen.

All the tangled stuff under the surface.

But I have to be honest—this one got away from me.

There was too much.

Too much content.
Too many ideas.
Too little focus.

And not enough time to truly digest any of it.

I left feeling like I’d invited everyone to a nourishing meal and then kept tossing dishes onto the table until no one could taste anything.

Maybe you know that feeling?

Where your good intentions overflow and suddenly what was meant to be simple and meaningful becomes… a little overwhelming.

It reminded me so much of what I sometimes do in my paintings.

I start with a beautiful spark—an idea, a feeling, a color that moves me.

But then I try to add everything.

I overwork it.

I layer and adjust and second-guess until the heart of the piece gets buried under all the effort.

And just like with my art, the solution isn’t to throw it all out.

It’s to pause.
To step back.
To breathe.

And to ask: What’s essential here? What’s enough?

That’s the gentle lesson I’m taking from yesterday’s call:

When things feel overwhelming, don’t go wider. Go deeper.

You might be wondering—what does that even mean?

Going wider is what we often do when we feel unsure.

We reach for more: more courses, more techniques, more styles, more Pinterest boards.

We collect instead of connect.

And sometimes all that more drowns out our own voice.

Going deeper is a different kind of brave.

It means:

• Choosing one idea or emotion and really staying with it.

• Letting a single color palette, symbol, or question guide your work for a while.

• Returning to the same simple practice—not because it’s flashy, but because it’s grounding.

• Trusting that repetition and presence can reveal more than novelty ever could.

It’s not about doing everything.

It’s about doing something with care.

Deeper means slowing down long enough to hear what your art is actually trying to say.

Not just what looks good, but what feels true.

So that’s what I’m leaning into next time.

Less noise. More stillness.

Fewer points to make.

More space to feel.

If you were at the call, thank you. Truly. You brought your full selves, your open hearts, your willingness to explore.

That matters more than you know.

And if you missed it—don’t worry.

There’s always next time.

And we’ll keep finding our way together.

Love,
Lynn

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P.S. A few questions for your journal (or your next walk):
• Where in your creative life are you trying to do too much at once?
• What would it look like to go deeper instead of wider?
• Is there a small, clear thread you want to follow this week?

Next month’s Zoom call will center on this tender question:
“Is my art still worth it if no one sees it?”
We’ll talk about the hidden weight of invisibility, how self-worth gets tangled up in external validation, and what it means to keep creating anyway. Even if it’s just for you.

More details coming soon.
Mark your calendar—and in the meantime, keep showing up.
Your art is worth it. And so are you.

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