I was taking a shower the other night when the Muse decided to join me.

She does that.

That’s when I noticed a new creature in the tiles.

Usually it’s naked people. Groups of them. Limbs twisted into positions with a complete disregard for joints. Faces more at home on gargoyles than the cover of Vogue.

You may have guessed by now that showering for me is not just about getting clean. Or zoning out under hot water. Both of which are a bonus.

Showering is where I flex that noticing muscle. Let it off-leash. Let it wander into full-on anything-goes territory.

Jesus in the tile. Jerry Garcia in the steam.

And last night—a horse.

A madly unhinged horse with proportions that would never survive in the real world. A teeny tiny head. Cattywumpus parts. Completely impractical.

Completely perfect.

I’m going to paint him someday. Big. Horizontal. Stretched out, leaping across the canvas, being as wonky as he wants to be.

There may be charcoal involved.

We’ll see.

Although apparently the horse has other plans.

I sat down today intending to do a digital still life, and the Muse immediately informed me this was an excellent place for the shower horse.

So even though I fully intend to paint him properly someday—

he’s already sneaking into the work.

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When I’m Not Paying Attention

That horse didn’t show up because I went looking for it.

I wasn’t standing there thinking, okay, let’s be creative now.

I was just in the shower rinsing off. Trying to get shampoo out of my eyes. Focused entirely on making the stinging stop.

Not paying attention in any useful, productive way.

Which is usually when something slips in.

Not when I’m trying to pin it down. Not when I’m asking it to make sense.

When the Muse wanders in like she owns the place and points at something completely random:

“That. Don’t lose it.”

No explanation. No follow-up.

She makes me notice—then disappears, leaving me to figure out what just happened.

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Meanwhile—

Inspiration doesn’t show up fully formed.

It’s a horse in the tile. And if I squint and tilt my head, it’s a dog.

Or a face that disappears the second I really look at it. Something that makes zero sense… until it does.

It’s slightly off. Not quite right.

Easy to dismiss.

I almost do it all the time. That’s nothing. That’s dumb. That’s not going anywhere.

And then later—

I wish I’d paid attention.

This Is Where It Starts

The finished painting isn’t the beginning. The idea isn’t even the beginning.

It’s earlier than that.

That moment when something catches you and doesn’t let go. That’s the doorway.

I start my paintings the same way. Not with a plan. Not with something I can explain. Just marks. Movement. Following what feels interesting. Alive. A little unhinged.

Most of it goes nowhere.

Some of it turns into something I recognize.

And once in a while—something sticks.

This Week’s Creative Prompt

Next time you’re just standing there minding your own business—notice what shows up.

Because that’s usually when the Muse barges in, points at something absurd, and goes,

“That. Don’t pretend you didn’t see it.”

And maybe don’t worry so much about whether it makes sense yet. Sometimes a still life turns into a horse flying over a bowl of cherries.

And that makes perfectly good sense to me!

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Thanks for showing up. For reading. And for being on this noticing journey with me.