Messy Art, Not Messy Life: Embracing the Chaos of Creativity

Soft pastels are messy. No way around it. The pigment clings to my fingers, the dust settles into my workspace, and by the time I’m done, my hands look like I’ve lost a fight with a rainbow. But the mess? The mess is part of the magic.

That said, while my art is chaotic in the best way, my life is not. There’s this idea that being a messy artist means everything else must be in disarray—relationships, routines, even the state of my kitchen. But that’s not me. My husband and I have worked hard to build a life that’s steady, supportive, and intentional. We’ve healed together, we’ve set boundaries, and we’ve learned how to slow down. So, while my studio may be coated in a fine layer of pastel dust, the rest of my world is far from disorderly.

Boundaries, Values, and Saying No (Even When It’s Hard)

Slowing down and setting boundaries took work. As a recovering people-pleaser, saying no used to feel impossible. But over time, I’ve learned to hold up every request, every commitment, against our core values. If something doesn’t align, I let it go. That’s been a game-changer, not just in life, but in my creative process. Because without those boundaries, it’s easy to burn out. And when burnout creeps in, the joy of creating starts to slip away.

Why Embracing Creative Chaos is Essential

There’s a certain freedom that comes with embracing the mess of soft pastels. I can’t be too rigid, or I’ll get stuck in my own expectations. Sometimes, what shows up on the page isn’t what I planned—but that’s the beauty of it. The more I let go, the more adaptable I become. And if I fight the process? If I cling too tightly to perfection? That’s when frustration takes over. That’s when I spiral, and suddenly, making art feels like work instead of joy.

Mess is inevitable in soft pastels. Pigment dust falls from the paper into the foil catcher I rigged up. My hands stain with every color I touch. But when I surrender to that reality, I’m free to be curious, to explore, to play.

Dirty Hands, Happy Heart

I’ve always loved getting my hands dirty. I used to get in trouble for doodling on my skin in high school—something about “ink poisoning” (which, let’s be honest, was probably an urban myth). And remember being a kid, when your parents would ask if you washed your hands, and you’d say yes, even though there was no real way to tell? Well, with soft pastels, there’s definitely a way to tell. My hands turn entirely new colors. Rubbing them together just blends the pigment into something wilder. Washing them off feels like a little ritual—watching the colors swirl down the drain, proof that I spent time doing something I love.

Managing the Mess (Or Just Accepting It)

Of course, some mess-management is necessary. I wear an apron to protect my clothes. I made a foil catcher for my easel to collect pastel dust. And when I’m done, I scrub up with Dawn dish soap like a painter coming off a long shift. But at the end of the day? Pastel dust is just part of life.

The Art Isn’t Messy—The Medium Is

Here’s the thing: my art isn’t messy. The medium is. And I love that about it.

Soft pastels let me be free. They encourage curiosity, play, and that perfect balance between control and surrender. Because when I try to control too much, when I tense up, the fun disappears. My body feels it—shoulders tight, jaw clenched. That’s my cue to let go, to trust the process, to remind myself that a little mess never hurt anybody.

So, yes—my hands will always be covered in pigment. My apron will always have smudges. My studio will always have a fine layer of pastel dust.

But my life? My life is steady, slow, and intentional.

And that contrast? That’s where the magic happens.