Hello, I’m Juliette, a full-time painter, writer, and creative educator. Welcome to Living the Way of the Happy Painter—a heart-centered space where I share essays about art, life, and living with intention. This is my ever-evolving journal of creativity and connection—and I’m so glad you’re here.
I was in Door County, Wisconsin, last week, staying at a little inn by the shore. It was sunrise when I stepped out my door, down the worn wooden stairs, through a cottage garden blooming with hydrangeas and poppies. I followed the narrow path toward the beach—where we had our wedding reception nearly twenty years ago.
I sat with a steaming mug of black coffee, leaning back in a lounge chair as clouds drifted and sailboats swayed. Their bells jingled softly with the waves as the sun lifted over the harbor. The air was cool, the gentle breeze brushed my hair.
Something in me exhaled. My spirit felt awakened. My heart opened.
This was the space and time I’d been craving.
When I returned from my retreat in France, something had shifted. Every August, I give myself a gift—it would have been my mother’s birthday. One year, my husband and I rented a pontoon boat. Another year, I went to Door County simply to read and wander. This year, I wanted to restore and reflect.
I’ve been looking back at my paintings from last year, asking: What wants to come forward into this new body of work? And what is ready to be released?
Painting, for me, has always been a dance between honoring what’s come before and letting go of what no longer feels alive. It can be tender. A little scary. And deeply freeing—just like life.
We’ve been thinking about moving, but nothing has felt quite right. So instead of packing boxes, I’m leaning into my current space—a large studio separate from our house. When we moved in, it was an unfinished loft above a garage. We built a deck, finished the walls, and installed tall double doors that swing wide so it feels like I’m painting outdoors, even when I’m inside. Everything is on wheels, ready to shift with me as my practice evolves.
Most days, I touch my art in some way—sketching outside, doodling in the margins, building up layers on a figurative piece, or pushing color across a large abstract canvas.
Recently I began drawing with a ballpoint pen. It’s such a simple joy—easy to carry anywhere, quick to capture a shape or a thought, and free of rules. Sometimes I add a few words alongside the lines. It takes me right back to why I began painting in the first place: for joy. And I believe sharing joy creates more joy in the world.
While I was in Door County, another idea surfaced:
What if, at the end of each studio day—no matter where I am in a painting—I recorded a short video? Just a glimpse into my process: my “why,” what worked, what didn’t, and what’s next.
Of course, my inner critic appeared: What will I say? What do I have to share? How will I put this out into the world?
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in more than 15 years as a professional artist, it’s this: you only need to begin. The next steps reveal themselves along the way.
Take the painting I’m sharing here. It sat unfinished for weeks. I didn’t like the colors. Then one day, I glanced at a favorite piece I’d just completed, borrowed some of its lines and hues, and suddenly it came alive.
The only thing missing?
I didn’t record the process.
Now it’s a little mystery.
I don’t remember every color I used—only the spark I felt when I rediscovered how neon pink mixed with green gold makes a brilliant orange.
That spark is what I want more of.
Time in nature—especially near water—fills me with a sense of flow I try to carry into my studio. I want each painting to feel like an invitation to pause, reflect, and find your own meaning in the colors and textures.
So I’m wondering—would you like to see more of that process? The experiments, the inspirations, the missteps, and the breakthroughs?
I’ve begun submitting work to galleries and dreaming of new partnerships. But here, in this quiet place, I had another thought: maybe I could share those reflections that happen each day of my studio practice with you—in videos, podcasts, or more essays like this.
Would you enjoy that?
If so, let me know—by subscribing or replying with a comment.
And I’ll leave you with this…
What’s something you’ve been longing to begin?
What would it feel like to give yourself time and space—not to finish, but simply to start?
You don’t need to take a huge leap. Just the next right step. Begin there. And in time, something beautiful will bloom.
Sometimes it’s as simple as sitting with your morning coffee, listening for the whisper of an idea.
Sending love,
xo Juliette
P.S. My process is all about returning to the joy of painting—letting yourself play with color, trust your creative voice, and explore your own style. It’s not about getting it “right”—it’s about finding your rhythm and strengthening your creativity. If you’d like to see more of what I teach, you can explore my painting courses and free resources here.
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This essay was written and published as part of Beth Kempton‘s Summer of Substack Essay Festival. This week’s prompt is Clarity.
All photos and artwork by Juliette Crane
Yes, pretty please, with colorful paint on top! I would love to see & hear more about your process & afterthoughts. I carry a micron pen & moleskin palm sized watercolor sketchbook always & water brush w/small set of 12 watercolors & water in a contact lens case if needed. I joined the San Diego Urbsn sketchers group & take on line sketch classes with Ian Fennelly, in UK…my newest passion.
I often relax to my annual membership with you that ends in Dec. so I keep that in my focus to finish & love it. I purchased your masterclass at the same time but it has lifetime access so will begin it after my annual ends. I love your writing & art. Creativity is contagious!
Would love to hear/see more of your process, such an intriguing idea 👀