Studio Journal Entry 005: The Story Behind Supernova

"Sometimes the painting knows what it wants to become long before the artist does."

When I painted Supernova, I had no idea where it would lead me.

I didn't have an LLC.

I wasn't calling myself an artist.

I certainly wasn't imagining a website, a Studio Journal, or collectors hanging my work in their homes.

I was simply experimenting.

At the time, I was trying every technique, every tool, and every color combination I could think of. I wasn't following a plan—I was following curiosity.

Supernova was the first of several colorful "burst" paintings I created. Looking at it now, I actually see something different than I did when I first finished it. It almost reminds me of a flower, especially after painting later pieces like Boom Bloom and Ignition.

But when I named it, I wasn't thinking about flowers.

I was thinking about energy.

That felt like the truest description.

This painting took much longer than some of my larger pieces, mostly because I kept trying to control it.

I lost count of how many colors I layered into it. I wanted them all to overlap perfectly, but instead they began blending together in ways I hadn't planned.

The harder I tried to force the painting into the image I had in my head, the more frustrated I became.

Eventually, I stopped.

Instead of trying to direct every movement, I let the palette knife lead the way.

Looking back, I realize that was the moment this painting finally became itself.

One of my favorite little details is something I never intended.

If you look closely, you'll see traces of colors I tried to paint over. They still peek through in places, almost as if they were meant to be there all along.

Sometimes the painting keeps a record of every decision you've made—even the ones you thought you'd erased.

When I stand in front of Supernova today, the feeling that comes first is nostalgia.

Not because it reminds me of a particular moment, but because it reminds me of a version of myself.

Someone who was experimenting without realizing she was laying the foundation for everything that would come next.

Supernova didn't just become a painting.

It quietly set me on the path I'm still walking today.

If this painting could speak, I think it would smile and say,

"Don't take everything so seriously."

That might be the biggest lesson it gave me.

Supernova reminds me that it's okay to let go and trust the process.

Ironically, that's exactly what I had to do before the painting finally came together.

Until next time,

Thanks for spending a few minutes behind the easel with me.

One of my favorite things about abstract art is that no two people experience a painting the same way. If this piece reminds you of a place, a memory, or simply a feeling, then it's already begun a conversation—and I love that.

See you in the studio,

Lisa
LBW Creative Studio

——

One Last Thought Before I Clean My Brushes

"The more I tried to control this painting, the less it looked like itself. Sometimes the best thing we can do—for our art and for ourselves—is loosen our grip and see what happens."