Why Your Paintings Don’t Feel Like Yours Yet | Michelle Gibbs
Painting Tips & Mindset

Why Your Paintings Don’t Feel Like Yours Yet

And what to do about it.

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There’s a feeling most painters know well. You finish a piece, step back, and think — it’s not bad. Technically it’s fine. But it doesn’t feel like mine. It feels like I reproduced something rather than created something.

If that resonates with you, I want you to know something straight away: it’s not a talent problem. It’s not even really a skill problem. It’s something much more specific — and much more fixable.

Today I want to talk about what that missing piece actually is. If you’d rather watch than read, I’ve made a video on this too — you’ll find it linked above. And if you’d like my free guide From Copying to Creating: 5 Steps Towards Art That Feels Genuinely Yours, the link is in the video description — or just drop a comment on the video saying ‘send me the guide’ and I’ll send it straight to you.

First — let’s talk about copying

I want to be careful here because copying gets a bad reputation and honestly, it doesn’t deserve it. Copying is how we all start. Following a demonstration, working from a reference photo, painting alongside a tutor — these are genuinely valuable ways to learn. There’s nothing wrong with any of it.

In fact, the Old Masters did it. Young artists would spend years in workshops copying the paintings of their teachers. It was how you learned anatomy, colour mixing, brushwork, composition. It worked then and it works now.

“There’s a difference between following a demonstration where someone is really explaining what they’re doing and why — and just copying what you see on screen.”

Unless your tutor is explaining the thinking behind every decision — why they’re placing the focal point there, why they’re mixing that colour, why they’re simplifying that background — you’ll only ever be able to replicate that one painting. You won’t be able to take those skills somewhere new.

This is something I feel really strongly about in my own teaching. In all of my demonstrations, I don’t just show you what I’m doing — I explain why. Why I’m choosing to squint and simplify before I commit to detail. Why I’m pushing the light source to one side. Why I’m leaving that edge soft rather than sharp.

Because if you understand the reason behind the decision, you can take it into any painting, any subject, any situation. It becomes yours. Without that reasoning, you’re just copying the result. And copying the result will only take you so far.

Great painting is a language

So what changes when you stop copying and start creating? In my experience, it comes down to one thing: understanding that great painting is built on a language. A visual language. And like any language — French, music, maths — once you learn it properly, you can use it to say whatever you want.

Composition, depth, atmosphere, the way a painting guides your eye from one place to another — these aren’t things great artists just feel instinctively. They’re tools. Learnable, teachable, repeatable tools. And once you understand them, you start to see them everywhere.

✦ Try This

Look at a painting you love

Next time you look at a painting you love — in a gallery, in a book, on your phone — instead of just feeling it, ask one question: where is my eye going first? Then trace where it goes next. See if you can map the journey the artist designed. That simple act of looking with awareness rather than just admiration is the beginning of learning the language.

The Masters prove it

I love talking about the Masters because they make this so clear. Their work isn’t magic — it’s the result of decision after decision, made with tools they understood completely. And every one of those decisions is learnable.

Vermeer
The Lesson: Stillness by Design

That feeling of quiet, that quality of light — it comes from knowing exactly where to place the figure, how to angle the light through the window, and how to keep the background so simple your eye never has anywhere else to go.

Rembrandt
The Lesson: Lightest Light, Darkest Dark

Your eye goes straight to the face every single time because he placed his lightest light right next to his darkest dark. Everything else is quieter, simpler — serving the focal point rather than competing with it.

When you start to understand what those decisions are, something shifts. You stop standing in front of a great painting hoping to absorb it by osmosis, and you start reading it. And once you can read it, you can start writing in it — in your own words.

What this looks like in practice

One of the simplest things I teach — and one that makes an immediate difference — is the thumbnail sketch. Before I start any painting, I do three tiny rough compositions. Just a few centimetres each. Three different ways of arranging the subject.

3

The Three-Thumbnail Habit

Before picking up a brush, sketch three tiny compositions — just a few centimetres each. Ask yourself: which one has a clear focal point? Which one leads the eye somewhere interesting? Which one feels balanced without being static? Five minutes of this changes the quality of your work before you’ve even started.

That’s what the visual language gives you. Not a formula, not a style to copy. A set of tools that let you make intentional choices every step of the way.

Free Download

Ready to go from copying to creating?

I’ve put together a free guide that goes into five key steps in much more detail — From Copying to Creating: 5 Steps Towards Art That Feels Genuinely Yours.

Get the Free Guide → Or comment ‘send me the guide’ on the YouTube video and I’ll send it straight to you.

michellegibbs.co.uk/from-copying-to-creating

Over the next few weeks I’m posting more videos talking about different parts of this visual language. Make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss them.

And if this resonated today, I’d love to hear from you. Do your paintings feel like yours yet? Drop a comment on the video or come and find me on Instagram — I’m @michellegibbsartstudio. I read every single message.

Happy painting,

Michelle x

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