I Thought Finding My Style Would Be the Goal. I Was Wrong.

One of the questions I'm asked most often is, "How did you find your style?"

The truth?

I'm not sure I have.

And I've realized that's perfectly okay.

When I picked up a paintbrush again six years ago, I assumed every artist eventually arrived at a destination—that magical point where they could finally say, "This is my style." I imagined there would be a moment when everything clicked into place and I would stop experimenting.

That moment hasn't come.

Instead, something much better has happened.

The Beginning

Looking back at some of my earliest paintings makes me smile.

There were colorful fish, sea turtles, tropical beaches, and palm trees. They weren't particularly refined, but they already hinted at what I loved most—Florida, the ocean, nature, and light. Apparently, I've been painting Florida all along. Those early paintings weren't masterpieces, but they were important. They gave me the confidence to keep going.

My early works - before I started taking lessons. These were just for me and I was really proud of them at the time!

Learning the Rules

Once I began taking classes, I wanted to learn everything.

I studied color.

Composition.

Perspective.

Brushwork.

I painted tropical birds, beach scenes, flowers, architecture, portraits—anything that challenged me to become a better painter.

Every class, every workshop, every YouTube video taught me something new.

Sometimes I'd see another artist's work and think, "I want to learn how to paint like that."

So I'd try.

Not because I wanted to copy someone else, but because every new technique became another tool I could eventually make my own.

Painting places that meant something.

Chasing a Style

For a long time, I thought I needed to pick a lane.

Was I a landscape painter?

A floral artist?

A portrait artist?

A coastal painter?

An impressionist?

A contemporary artist?

Every time I thought I had the answer, my curiosity pulled me somewhere new. And honestly...it frustrated me. I wondered if I was doing something wrong because my work kept evolving.

Then Something Changed

My colors are evolving.

Over time, I stopped asking,

"What style should I paint?"

and started asking,

"What am I excited to paint today?"

That simple shift changed everything.

Instead of worrying about fitting into a category, I focused on becoming a better observer. I noticed the way sunlight dances across water.

The glow of the sky just before sunset.

The movement of flowers in the breeze.

The reflections that appear for only a few moments before disappearing.

I realized I wasn't really painting beaches or flowers.

I was painting light.

The Blank Canvas Is Still Scary

People sometimes assume that once you've been painting for a while, the blank canvas stops feeling intimidating.

It doesn't.

I still find it difficult to stare at an empty canvas and create something completely new from my imagination.

What I've learned is that inspiration rarely arrives before I begin.

It usually arrives because I begin.

When I experiment with a new technique or take a workshop, I don't expect the first painting to become a masterpiece. I expect it to teach me something. The second painting feels a little easier. The third begins to feel natural. Growth doesn't happen in one leap. It happens one painting at a time.

Maybe Finding My Style Was Never the Goal

When I look back over the past six years, I don't see a collection of unrelated paintings.

I see curiosity.

I see persistence.

I see countless small steps that gradually led me toward a voice that feels more authentic every year.

My work today is certainly different from where I started, but I hope it keeps changing. Because if I've learned anything, it's that growth is far more exciting than arrival. I'm no longer searching for the moment when I can say, "I've found my style."

Instead, I'm looking forward to seeing where curiosity takes me next.

If you're an artist, or someone pursuing any creative dream, maybe you don't need to have it all figured out either.

Maybe the goal isn't to arrive. Maybe the goal is simply to keep showing up. One painting at a time.

Warmly,

Jodi

Current Work