It’s early morning. I’m standing at the kitchen sink filling the dog bowl with fresh water. And then—BAM! Out of nowhere the muse hits me between the eyes with a lightning bolt screaming holy moly, just look at that!

COLOR!!!

Picture this–black granite windowsill. Cobalt blue bottles lined up in the morning light. A bright yellow pot of African violets loaded with purple blossoms.

All set against white subway tiles and yellow walls.

Wowie! Shazaam! Pure electric COLOR!

Worthy of a photo if nothing else. So I snapped a pic and posted it on my FB biz page as part of my noticing series. Caption: Noticing: Color.

And then I went about my day.

Because not everything needs to become a painting. Right?

Right???

Looking at the photo now, I’m reminded of the phrase “a face only a mother could love.” Because the photo doesn’t come close.

What I saw—and what my artist brain latched onto—was louder, richer, a whole lot more insistent.

When Color Turns Into Painting Inspiration (Whether You Like It or Not)

Sometimes an image sticks. Sometimes a color combination or composition refuses to let go. It lingers. Taps. Then pokes harder.

Oh wait, that’s that’s the Muse doing the pokey thing. If I don’t pay attention to subtle, she’ll come roaring back not so subtle.

Because the Muse is patient… until she isn’t.

She’ll start gentle—just a flicker of color, a moment of light. Ignore her, and suddenly that same combination shows up everywhere.

In my coffee cup. Along the freeway where I have no way of pulling over. In places it has no business being.

At that point, it’s not inspiration–it’s full-blown haunting.

So I can ignore it and spend the next few days wearing my cranky pants. Or follow it.

Because here’s what I’ve noticed: Color is rarely just color. It’s a mood. A memory. A little emotional shove wrapped in pigment.

That cobalt blue against black? Calm—but not sleepy. That yellow pot? Pure in-your-face-joy. Those purple blossoms? Little pops of well hello.

Put them together and suddenly it’s not a kitchen sink anymore–it’s a conversation. And apparently, I’ve been invited.

So now the question isn’t should this become a painting? It’s what kind of painting does it want to be?

Which feels oddly familiar.

A few weeks ago I was wondering what would happen when I got back to painting—what would change, what would stick, what might show up that I didn’t expect.

This? This feels like part of that answer.

Colbalt/Yellow/Purple could end up a colorfield. Indeed it might, someday. But right now that feels too ‘safe’ for this palette. Too muted. What I want is the punch. The clash. The unapologetic Wonder Woman look at me energy of that moment.

I could paint it as what it is–a still life.

But I’m not interested in painting well behaved bottles and flower pots. I want them to break the rules of perspective. Defy the law of gravity. Thumb their nose at reality.

I want them to lean into another dimension. One where the horizon line is questionable at best. Where color ignores all rules and does whatever it wants.

So maybe this isn’t about recreating what I saw.

Maybe it’s about tilting it. Letting those colors argue. Letting composition wobble just enough to feel alive. Letting something ordinary get a little sideways.

Cattywumpus.

That feels a lot more like real life anyway.

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This Week’s Creative Prompt

Go find yourself a color ambush.

Not subtle. Not polite. I’m talking BAM—there it is.

A combo that makes you stop mid-step.

Now don’t just capture it. Mess with it. Tilt it. Exaggerate it.

Let one color take over like it’s got something to prove. Knock the composition slightly off-kilter so it feels a little… cattywumpus.

The goal isn’t accuracy.

The goal is energy.

Because that’s where the good stuff lives.

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Til next week–