Between Color and Canvas
In my studio, more than paintings are created.
It is a place where colors become emotions, ideas take shape, and quiet reflections begin.
Here, I’d love to share both with you — my art and the thoughts it inspires.
🌿 The Newest Thought
Shared on July 14, 2026
❤️
Why We Need Creativity Most in Difficult Times
There are times in life when everything feels heavy.
Our thoughts keep circling.
The news unsettles us.
And the world suddenly seems louder than our own hearts.
In moments like these, we may begin to wonder what place art or creativity really has.
Isn’t it simply a beautiful luxury—something we can only afford when life is going well?
I believe the opposite.
It is precisely in difficult times that we need creativity the most.
It offers us a place where, for a little while, we are allowed to be still.
A place where achievement no longer matters…
…only what we feel.
When words are no longer enough, colors begin to speak.
When our thoughts refuse to settle, they sometimes find their way into a brushstroke…
…a shape…
…or the quiet act of simply looking.
Creativity does not change the world around us.
But it changes the way we see it.
And sometimes, that is the very first step toward hope.
When I paint, I do not simply create paintings.
I create moments of trust.
I never know exactly where a painting will lead me.
Yet with every brushstroke, my confidence grows that something new can emerge from what is still unfinished.
Perhaps it is a quiet reminder that we, too, are allowed to grow…
…especially when life asks the most of us.
Creativity invites us to wonder again.
At the light falling through a window.
At the quiet power of a single color.
At a thought that appears unexpectedly and leaves us smiling.
It reminds us that beauty does not disappear simply because life has become difficult.
Sometimes, it is only waiting to be seen again.
Perhaps that is where its greatest strength lies.
Creativity does not offer ready-made answers.
Nor does it take our worries away.
But it opens a window.
A window toward hope.
Toward trust.
And toward the quiet certainty that after every dark color…
…a lighter one will eventually follow.
Perhaps we do not need creativity because it solves our problems.
Perhaps we need it because it reminds us what it means to be human—
to feel,
to dream,
and to begin again.
Why Mistakes Belong to the Creative Process
Sometimes, something beautiful begins precisely where the original plan comes to an end.
How often do we hope that everything will turn out exactly as we imagined—whether it is the first brushstroke on a canvas or the choices we make in life?
Yet creativity rarely follows a straight line.
It grows through courage.
Through curiosity.
And through our willingness to step into the unknown.
Even when I stand before a blank canvas, I begin with a feeling.
Sometimes the painting follows it.
Sometimes it chooses an entirely different path.
A color becomes more vibrant than I expected.
A shape suddenly feels too dominant.
A contrast surprises me.
Years ago, I might have called these moments mistakes.
Today, I see them as invitations to look more closely.
Not every apparent mistake wants to be corrected.
Some simply ask to be discovered.
More often than not, it is these unexpected moments that give a painting its own character.
They bring movement.
Depth.
Life.
If everything always unfolded exactly as planned, perhaps the result would be perfect.
But would it still move us?
I believe creativity needs freedom.
And freedom also means allowing ourselves to be wrong.
To begin again.
To give the unexpected a chance.
Because what first appears to be a mistake may quietly become the beginning of a new idea.
And uncertainty often becomes the place where courage begins.
Perhaps this is true not only in art.
Life rarely follows the path we imagined.
Plans change.
Dreams take unexpected turns.
Detours become experiences.
And only much later do we realize that these unforeseen moments have shaped who we are.
Perhaps we should look at mistakes a little more kindly.
Perhaps they are not signs of failure…
…but traces of growth.
They remind us that we had the courage to begin.
In my own paintings, I consciously leave room for this possibility.
Not every brushstroke has to be perfect.
Not every decision has to feel right immediately.
Because sometimes beauty appears the moment we stop resisting imperfection…
…and begin to welcome it.
Perhaps, in the end, it is not perfection that moves us.
It is honesty.
And honesty is so often born in the places where we stop fighting our imperfections…
…and allow them to become part of the story.
Why Does a Painting Move Us Even When It Shows Nothing Recognizable?
Perhaps because we are not always searching for answers.
Sometimes, a feeling is enough.
An abstract painting tells no obvious story.
It shows no tree.
No house.
No face.
And yet, something happens.
We pause.
Our eyes wander across colors, lines, and shapes.
And suddenly, something within us begins to resonate.
Often without us being able to explain why.
I believe abstract art does not speak to our minds first.
It speaks to the part of us that feels before it understands.
Each of us brings our own story.
Our memories.
Our experiences.
Our hopes.
That is why every person sees something different.
And to me, that is its greatest beauty.
Perhaps a color reminds us of a summer from childhood.
A line awakens a sense of new beginnings…
…or of longing.
A contrast invites us to pause.
The painting does not actually show any of these things.
And yet, somehow, we find them there.
Perhaps that is the true gift of openness.
We do not have to recognize anything.
We do not have to understand everything.
We are simply invited to look.
To feel.
To discover.
Without expectation.
Without judgment.
If a painting can make the world around us grow quieter, even for a single moment, it has already given us something precious.
Not because it has offered an answer…
…but because it has created a connection.
Not between the canvas and our eyes.
But between the painting and the person standing before it.
Perhaps that is the greatest gift of abstract art.
It does not tell us what we should see.
It reminds us what we are capable of feeling.
And you?
Have you ever stood in front of a painting that deeply moved you, even though you couldn’t explain why?
Perhaps the answer does not lie within the painting.
Perhaps it has been within you all along.
When No One Is Looking
I believe every artist hopes their work will be seen.
Not out of vanity…
…but because every painting holds time, thought, and a part of who we are.
I know what it feels like to create for years without being truly noticed.
Perhaps because I never followed a conventional path.
Perhaps because I am self-taught.
Or perhaps because my paintings have always found their own place rather than fitting into someone else’s expectations.
For a long time, that was painful.
Today, I see it differently.
Recognition does not determine the value of art.
It only determines how visible it happens to be.
The value of a painting is not created when it hangs in a gallery or receives an award.
Its value begins the moment it is honest.
I no longer paint in order to belong.
I paint because, without painting, I would no longer be myself.
And I believe that every painting will one day find the person it has been waiting for.
Why Art Doesn't Need a Résumé
There are many professions where degrees, qualifications, and experience matter.
And rightly so.
Art, however, follows a different path.
A canvas never asks where you studied.
A color has no interest in titles.
And an idea does not wait for permission before it comes to life.
Yet these are often the first questions artists are asked.
Did you study art?
Which gallery represents you?
What awards have you received?
At times, I felt as though people wanted to know my résumé before they were willing to look at my paintings.
Deep down, I have always hoped for the opposite.
I hope a painting is allowed to speak first.
To move someone.
To raise questions.
To awaken a feeling.
Long before anyone asks who created it.
Of course, recognition is meaningful.
And of course, I hope my work reaches more people.
But I do not believe that the value of a painting is defined by the path its artist has taken.
To me, art begins the moment someone has the courage to create something honest.
Whether self-taught, academically trained, or shaped by an entirely different journey, creativity cannot be measured by a résumé.
Perhaps that is exactly why art needs so many different voices.
Because every artist tells a story that no one else could tell.
And perhaps that is where the true strength of art lies.
Art never asks where we come from.
It only asks whether we have the courage to be honest.
Does Creativity Need Recognition?
Sometimes I ask myself whether I would still paint if no one ever saw my work.
And every time, my answer is the same:
Yes.
Because creativity does not exist for applause.
It begins with an inner need.
A longing to express something that cannot be put into words.
And yet, it would not be honest to pretend that recognition does not matter.
All of us long to be seen.
Not out of vanity…
…but because what we create carries a part of who we are.
When someone stands before one of my paintings and quietly says,
“This touches me.”
it is more than a compliment.
It is a meeting.
A moment that tells me something born within me has found its way into the heart of another person.
I have also learned that recognition sometimes takes a long time to arrive.
And sometimes it looks very different from what we imagined.
Had I depended on the approval of others, I would probably have stopped painting many years ago.
Today, I no longer paint in order to be recognized.
I paint because painting has become part of who I am.
Recognition is a beautiful thing.
It can encourage us.
It can open doors.
It can give us strength.
But it should never be the reason we begin.
And it should never be the reason we stop.
Because the most meaningful recognition often happens in complete silence.
In the moment when I stand before a finished painting…
…and simply know:
This is me.
Not perfect.
Not shaped by expectations.
But honest.
And perhaps that is the most valuable recognition of all.
The recognition we learn to give ourselves.
What Makes a Painting Valuable?
People sometimes ask me:
“What makes a painting truly valuable?”
Most people think of recognition.
Of awards.
Of galleries.
Of auctions.
Or of a name that many people already know.
I understand those thoughts.
And yet, I believe they tell only a small part of the story.
To me, the value of a painting begins much earlier.
It begins the moment someone has the courage to create something honest.
Every painting carries traces.
Not only of color…
…but of thoughts.
Of doubt.
Of joy.
Of moments when everything falls into place.
And of those when everything is painted over and begins again.
No painting comes into being by chance.
Each one quietly tells something about the person who created it.
And then, something beautiful happens.
The painting begins to let go of its creator.
It meets other people.
One person discovers hope.
Another finds a memory.
Someone else recognizes something that cannot be put into words.
In that moment, the painting no longer belongs to one person alone.
It becomes a connection between two people who may never meet.
To me, that is the true value of art.
Not its price.
Not its size.
Not the signature in the corner.
But its ability to move something within us.
Because a painting that touches no one remains a painted canvas.
A painting that touches even one person…
…becomes a story.
And stories are beyond price.
Perhaps a painting becomes truly valuable the moment it leaves us with more questions than answers.
Does Art Need to Be Explained?
People often ask me what a particular painting means.
And every time, I pause for a moment.
Not because I don’t know the answer…
…but because I don’t believe it can ever be mine alone.
A painting begins with my story.
But the moment it leaves my studio…
…it begins to tell many others.
One person may see hope.
Another may recognize farewell.
Someone else may simply see color.
And all of them are right.
I don’t believe art needs to be explained.
I believe it is meant to be experienced.
Perhaps its greatest strength lies in the fact that it speaks differently to every person who encounters it.
Why I Still Write About Every Painting
Perhaps you are wondering why I write a story or a longer reflection for each of my paintings if I truly believe that everyone should be free to discover something of their own.
The answer is simple.
My words are not meant to replace your experience.
They are simply there to accompany it.
Every painting begins in a particular moment of my life.
A feeling.
A conversation.
A question.
Or a thought that quietly stayed with me.
That story belongs to the painting.
It is where its journey begins.
But it is not where its journey ends.
My words are not an interpretation you are expected to follow.
They are simply a glimpse into the very first breath that painting took.
Perhaps something in that story will resonate with you.
Or perhaps you will discover something entirely different.
And that is exactly what I hope for.
Because the moment a painting is truly seen…
…it begins a new life.
No longer only with my thoughts.
But with yours.
That is why my reflections are not instructions.
They are an invitation.
An invitation to meet the painting first through my eyes…
…and then to continue seeing it through your own.
Because I believe a painting does not have to keep telling the story with which it was created.
Perhaps it becomes a true companion precisely because it allows every person to discover a story of their own.
Why We Should Stop Chasing the Perfect Line
For a long time, I believed that perfection meant security.
Today, I am looking for something different.
I am looking for honesty.
A line is allowed to tremble.
It may take an unexpected turn.
It may even fail.
Because that is often where something truly interesting begins.
Perfection may impress me.
But honesty is what moves me.
Can Creativity Be Learned?
I believe that every person is creative.
Not everyone paints.
Not everyone composes music.
Not everyone writes.
But every one of us creates.
Creativity begins…
…the moment we have the courage
to trust our own ideas more than our fear of making mistakes.
Perhaps we can learn techniques.
But creativity grows where curiosity becomes stronger than perfection.
Can Success Be Measured?
For a long time,
I believed success was measured
by exhibitions,
galleries,
sales,
or awards.
Today,
I see it differently.
To me,
success begins
the moment I walk into my studio in the morning…
…and look forward
to making the very first brushstroke.
Everything else
is a gift.
When a Painting Doesn't Find a Home
There was a time
when I wondered
whether something was wrong with my painting.
Today,
I simply wonder
whether it has not yet found
the person it was waiting for.
Not every painting meets the right person straight away.
Some simply need more time.
Perhaps it is the same in life.
Not every meaningful encounter happens
at the right moment.
Why Comparison Diminishes Creativity
There will always be someone…
who paints faster.
Who is better known.
Who sells more.
Who exhibits in larger galleries.
The moment I begin comparing my journey to someone else’s…
…I lose sight of my own.
Art is not born from competition.
It is born from the quiet encounter with ourselves.
Does Art Require Courage?
I believe
every honest work of art
begins with courage.
The courage
not to please everyone.
The courage
to let imperfections remain visible.
The courage
to bring something deeply personal
into the world.
Perhaps courage is not the absence of fear.
Perhaps it is simply the decision
to keep painting anyway.
What Happens When Doubt Paints Along?
I know that voice well.
The quiet one…
…that wonders
whether the painting will work.
Whether it is good enough.
Whether anyone will care.
For a long time,
I wanted that voice to disappear.
Today,
I know it belongs.
Because doubt often means
that something truly matters to us.
It is welcome in my studio.
It just no longer decides
when I put down my brush.
When Is a Painting Finished?
People ask me this question often.
And every time, I find myself smiling.
Because the most honest answer is:
I don’t know.
There is no single moment when a painting suddenly says,
“Now I’m finished.”
Sometimes I put down my brush because I sense that every additional stroke would take something away.
Not add.
Take away.
Some paintings come to life in just a few hours.
Others stay with me for weeks.
I look at them.
Walk past them.
Return the next morning.
Sometimes I continue painting.
Sometimes I simply let them be.
And then, something changes.
Not always the painting.
But the way I see it.
A quiet certainty begins to emerge.
Not perfection.
But peace.
Perhaps a painting is finished the moment I stop wanting to change it.
Not because I no longer see what could be different…
…but because I begin to accept it
for what it has become.
Sometimes a painting is not completed by the final brushstroke.
Sometimes it is completed by the quiet trust
that it has already said everything it wanted to say.
How Does Art Find Its Way to People?
This question has been with me for many years.
How do artists find opportunities to exhibit?
How do they become visible?
How do galleries discover their work?
And why do some paintings find a new home almost immediately, while others seem to wait for years?
For a long time, I believed there had to be one clear answer.
Today, I believe something different.
There is no single path.
There are only many small steps.
Over the years, my own journey has taught me a few things.
I have learned that visibility is rarely created in one defining moment.
It grows through countless small ones.
Through every painting.
Every conversation.
Every encounter.
Every exhibition—no matter how modest it may seem.
I have learned that rejection does not mean the work is not good enough.
Often, it simply means the right place—or the right moment—has not arrived yet.
I have learned that recognition can grow slowly.
Just like trust.
And I have learned that while selling a painting brings great joy, it should never become the reason I paint.
Because the moment I begin creating only for the sale, I risk losing the honesty that gave my work its voice in the first place.
Of course I hope my paintings continue to reach people.
That they find exhibitions.
That they find new homes.
But there is something I hope for even more.
That, along the way, I never lose sight of myself.
Because visibility is valuable.
But authenticity is beyond price.
To Every Artist at the Beginning of the Journey
If there is one thing my own journey has taught me, it is this:
Don’t wait for someone else to discover your art.
Let people discover it.
Share it.
Talk about it.
Tell the stories behind it.
Don’t be afraid to begin with small steps.
Every exhibition starts with a first application.
Every meaningful conversation begins with a simple introduction.
Every collector once bought a first painting.
And every artist once stood before a blank canvas.
Stay curious.
Stay patient.
Above all…
Stay true to yourself.
Because people do not simply connect with paintings.
They connect with the person who created them.
And perhaps success in art is not about reaching as many people as possible.
Perhaps it is about reaching the people who were always meant to find your work.
Why I Write These Reflections
❤️
🌿 Until the Next Reflection
Every reflection begins with a quiet moment of wonder.
Perhaps the next one is already waiting…
…somewhere between color,
light,
and life itself.
Until then,
I hope you’ll continue discovering your own reflections—
wherever they may find you.
With warm regards
❤️
Susanne Witzig
