Part 7: Building Your Own Practice

Structure, Space, and Rhythm

1 — What does “practice” mean to you?

I like to use fitness as a metaphor.
When we talk about working out, we usually plan weekly frequency, meal structure, and the focus of each training day—maybe upper body in the morning, then core or legs; sometimes cardio, sometimes strength; and we review progress from time to time.

Similarly, applying this mindset to art means building a stable workflow for your creative practice. For example:
What do you do first when you enter the studio—what’s your “warm-up”?
What are you painting or making today?
If paint or canvas runs out, how do you restock and maintain your inventory?
If you have meetings or errands, how do you coordinate your schedule?

This is just my own approach. Some friends rely more on bursts of inspiration, but I personally don’t trust “inspiration”—it’s far too unreliable. What I can rely on is a steady work rhythm and creating an environment where inspiration can happen.

Writers are a great reference here: many sit down at their desks every morning no matter what, writing hundreds or thousands of words—good or bad—just to create volume. Art-making is the same. We can’t depend on a sudden lightning strike of inspiration that produces a masterpiece. That might happen, but realistically, sustained practice is what makes creation possible.

2 — How do you usually structure your day around creation?

My creative routine has changed constantly with different stages of life.

At the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, I took the bus at 9 AM every day, attended classes near Millennium Park, had a three-hour studio session in the morning, visited the Art Institute after lunch, then went back to class from 1–4 PM. After school, I either stayed in the studio or explored the city with friends.

Later at Carnegie Mellon University, I spent almost an entire year staying up late doing assignments and had barely any time to make art. After my internship, when weekdays and weekends were more distinct, I started signing up for weekend painting classes as a way to “restart” my practice.

When I joined Apple and moved to New York to work remotely, my mornings from 9 AM to noon (before the West Coast woke up) became precious studio time, and I worked late into the night. Weekends were for exhibitions and more creation—unless work got too demanding.

At one point I tried full-time creation: going to the studio every day from 9 to 5. Even though the commute was 30–60 minutes, I forced myself to stay in the studio even if I couldn’t paint—just sitting there reading or thinking. But I quickly realized this wasn’t efficient; my time wasn’t being used well.

I realized I’m someone who needs to do multiple things simultaneously. Some people can devote themselves solely to art, but I’m not like that—I value time and efficiency. During my startup phase, I used writing to maintain my creative energy—poetry, essays, reflections. I reminded myself: writing is creation; making art isn’t only about painting.

When the startup wrapped up, I returned to a more full-time studio routine that summer.

So my artistic rhythm is fluid. There’s no fixed formula, because every stage of life shifts.

3 — How do you find your own rhythm?

My method is simple: try first, adjust later.

For example, I set small recurring habits. I’ve kept a diary for about ten years. Even if I just record the key events of the day or the past few days, the act of continuous documentation helps me understand the flow of my life and gradually find my personal rhythm.

The key is to act first, then observe and adapt.

4 — What role does the studio play in your creative life?

I personally think a studio is very important. It doesn’t have to be an external rented space—it can be a corner or a room at home. For many people, having a dedicated studio is a luxury.

But I believe we all need “a room of one’s own,” in the Virginia Woolf sense—a private space that becomes a creative field. When you step into that space, it becomes a container for your creative state.

Inside this field, you can shut out everything—economic anxiety, layoffs, chaotic news cycles, family chores. When I sit in that chair at that table, I enter creative mode. Just as lying in bed means sleep, and being in the kitchen means cooking, stepping into my studio means I’m making art.

5 — Do you have a “small ritual” that helps you enter creative mode?

For me, it’s writing. I’ve always loved reading and writing, and although I only recently began sharing my writing with others, I’ve kept a diary for years.

My ritual is simple:
I open my laptop, open my diary in Google Docs, and write about my scene, my mood, what’s happening around me. After doing this, I naturally slip into a creative state.

6 — How do you maintain confidence through long-term fluctuations?

I think at its core, this is a matter of expectation management.

I once worked with a photographer who specialized in archiving artists’ works. He had seen countless artists across his career. He said the saddest thing is the artist who is extremely talented but gets discouraged by one failed exhibition—say, selling zero works—and then quits altogether.

That profoundly reminded me: one of the best ways to maintain confidence is actually to lower expectations a bit. It sounds ironic, but not tying your hope too tightly to a single outcome makes it easier to keep going.

The art market is like nature—sunrise, sunset, cycles, seasons. Even if you are brilliant, your work may go unnoticed for years due to economic climate or timing. I’ve gone through difficult years myself.

The key is steady effort, and trusting that if your direction is right and you can see incremental improvement in yourself, then confidence should follow. Be broadly optimistic and specifically rational. And don’t place all your life’s expectations onto art alone—that mindset is far more sustainable.