Finding Your Signature Style: The Journey to Artistic Identity

When you’re just getting started as an artist, or even when you’ve been at it for a while, there’s this low-key pressure that hangs in the air. That feeling of needing to find your "style." Your thing. That invisible thread that ties all your work together and makes people say, “Oh yeah, I know who made that.”

And if you’re anything like me, you’ve probably wondered at least once or twice — is it just supposed to magically appear? Like one day you’re messing around with paints or pencils and bam, suddenly you have a fully formed artistic identity? Spoiler alert: it does not work like that. At least not for most of us.

Finding your signature style is a weird mix of discovery, stubbornness, accidents, curiosity, and a whole lot of living your actual life. It doesn’t come from sitting around thinking about it too hard. It definitely doesn’t come from copying what’s trending on Instagram. It comes from showing up again and again... even when you’re not totally sure what you’re doing.

In my early days, I would swing between wildly different styles every few months. One minute I was trying to master hyperrealism because it seemed impressive. The next, I was deep into abstract expressionism, flinging paint and feeling very serious about it. I didn’t know who I was yet as an artist. And honestly, that’s normal. If you’re in that place right now, please know: it’s not a failure. It’s part of the process. You are not behind.

One of the best things I ever did for my art life was to stop asking, “What should my style be?” and start asking, “What feels good to make right now?” That one question changed everything. It gave me permission to follow my instincts instead of trying to reverse engineer an identity.

If you’re still searching for your style, here’s something I want you to hear clearly: you don’t find it by thinking. You find it by making.

It’s the accumulation of small choices, tiny experiments, little obsessions that keep pulling you back to the studio or the sketchbook. It’s when you realize you keep coming back to certain colors, certain shapes, certain subjects. It sneaks up on you. It grows when you’re not looking directly at it.

When I was teaching one of my foundation classes a few years ago, a student asked me, “How will I know when I’ve found my style?” I told them, “When your work feels like it’s telling you what to do next, instead of you telling it.”

There’s a tipping point where you stop feeling like you’re imitating other artists, or like you’re cobbling together ideas from a hundred different places. You start recognizing yourself in the work. You see your own fingerprints on everything you make. That’s when you know you’re getting closer.

Here’s what helped me (and might help you too):

First: make a lot of work. More than you think you need to. Not everything has to be precious. Not everything has to be finished. Sometimes it’s the half-finished pieces that reveal what you’re actually interested in. I keep a huge pile of “almosts” — pieces that didn’t quite work but taught me something. Patterns show up if you let yourself make enough that you can actually spot them.

Second: pay attention to what lights you up when you’re working. When you lose track of time, when you feel a little thrill in your chest, when you can’t wait to get back to it...those are your clues. Chase those feelings. They’re better guides than anything external.

Third: let yourself be bad at things for a while. You might have to make bad paintings, messy drawings, weird collages, awkward sculptures. You’re gathering information. You’re learning what feels real for you. It’s like trying on clothes. Some things fit. Some things absolutely do not. That’s part of it.

Fourth: notice your habits without trying to force them. Are you drawn to certain textures? Certain types of mark-making? Do you keep drawing plants, or moons, or people, or cityscapes without really meaning to? Your interests will leak out if you let them. Let them.

Fifth: be willing to evolve. You’re allowed to change. Your style will probably shift over time. Mine certainly has. Early on, I was working with bright acrylics and bold graphic lines. Later, I moved into mixed media with lots of layers and muted colors. Now, some days I find myself leaning into minimalism. You don’t have to get stuck in one way of working forever. Your style isn’t a box to trap yourself in. It’s a home you can renovate whenever you want.

Something else I’ll say, just from my own experience: don’t fall into the trap of thinking your style has to look like someone else’s. When you scroll through Instagram or wander a gallery, it’s easy to feel like everyone else has it all figured out. They don’t. I promise. Even the artists who seem to have a rock-solid brand and a “recognizable” look are still wrestling with growth behind the scenes. Your path will not look exactly like anyone else’s. That’s the point.

There’s a difference between being inspired by someone and imitating them. Be honest with yourself about the difference. Inspiration is fuel. Imitation is a shortcut that usually leads to frustration. You can take notes from the artists you admire, but your real work is to build your own visual language. Your own way of saying things.

Sometimes you don’t even know what you’re trying to say until you start saying it. That’s the weird part. And also the beautiful part.

One trick that helped me when I felt stuck was setting some intentional “play sessions.” I’d go into the studio and tell myself, “Today I’m not making anything good. I’m just messing around.” Sometimes I limited myself to three colors. Sometimes I drew with my non-dominant hand. Sometimes I painted over old pieces. No pressure. Just exploration. Some of my best breakthroughs happened when I wasn’t trying so hard to be good.

Another thing that helped: I kept a visual diary. Nothing fancy. Just a cheap sketchbook where I could paste clippings, doodle ideas, try out tiny color palettes, scribble notes about things I noticed in my daily life. Over time, I could flip through and see patterns forming. Certain colors showed up again and again. Certain types of compositions. Certain themes. It was like a map slowly drawing itself.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed about finding your style, you might want to try something similar. Give yourself a space that’s just for you — not for posting online, not for sharing, not for selling. Just a private space to notice yourself.

Another thing to remember: your life outside the studio shapes your art too. The places you live, the books you read, the conversations you have, the seasons you move through. All of it soaks into your work whether you mean it to or not.

If you’re feeling disconnected from your art, it might be a sign to live a little more, to gather more raw material. Go for walks. Take pictures. Read things that have nothing to do with art. Travel if you can, even if it’s just to the next town over. Talk to strangers. Your style isn’t separate from you. It’s you, distilled.

It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s more like one brushstroke at a time, one choice at a time, one ordinary day after another. And then one day you look back and realize: you’ve built something. You’ve become someone. And you’re still becoming. Always.

So if you’re in that messy, in-between stage right now — the one where you’re experimenting and doubting and second-guessing and starting over — I just want to say: keep going. You’re not lost. You’re not behind. You’re exactly where you need to be.

So how do you actually build this into your studio practice?

Here’s the thing: you don't find your style by sitting around thinking about it. You find it by doing. So the best thing you can do is set up your practice in a way that invites exploration, invites you to notice what pulls you in, and gives you the space to be a little bit messy along the way.

Here are a few ideas you can actually try:

One: Make small daily or weekly projects that are low-pressure. Pick something that feels doable and repeatable. A tiny sketch every morning. A quick color study at lunch. A collage made from scraps you find that day. Set a timer for 20 minutes if that helps. The more you touch your materials, the faster you’ll start seeing the threads that connect your work. Small, frequent practice builds intuition better than occasional marathon sessions.

Two: Create a “What If” list. This one is one of my favorites when I feel stuck. Write down a big list of "What if..." questions related to your materials or ideas. What if I only used black and white? What if I layered ten drawings on top of each other? What if I stitched into paper? What if I drew without looking at the page? Then try a few. Not everything will be good. It’s not supposed to be. It’s just supposed to get you moving.

Three: Notice your artistic “tics.” We all have them. Maybe you always draw certain shapes, or your paintings lean toward certain compositions without you meaning to. Instead of judging those, get curious about them. Lean into them a little. See where they take you if you let them show up on purpose instead of by accident.

Four: Use self-imposed limits. Pick just two materials. Or three colors. Or one theme for a week. When you give yourself boundaries, you often find more creative freedom inside them. It helps you narrow your focus enough to start seeing patterns.

Five: Document everything. Keep a messy visual diary, a pile of loose drawings, an overflowing folder on your iPad...whatever fits your style. Over time, go back and flip through. Patterns will show up that you can’t always see when you’re deep in the making.

Six: Let yourself move toward what feels easy and natural. This one sounds almost too simple, but it’s huge. When you’re making something and it feels like your hands already know what to do — when the marks flow without you having to think too hard — pay attention. That’s a sign you’re onto something. You don’t have to chase the hardest, most complicated thing. Sometimes your style lives in the place where making feels like breathing.

Seven: Reflect every few months. Every season or so, set aside an afternoon to spread your work out and look at it all together. Not to judge it. Not to edit it. Just to see it. What colors show up again and again? What themes? What subjects? What moods? Trust that your style is already whispering to you. You just need to be quiet enough to hear it.

Some reminders for the days it feels like you’ll never figure it out:

You’re not supposed to have it all figured out yet.
You don’t have to work in only one style forever.
It’s okay if your style looks different tomorrow than it does today.
You’re allowed to outgrow things.
You’re allowed to reinvent yourself.
You’re allowed to stay the same, too, if it still feels true.
Your art will mirror your life. If your life is changing, your art probably will too.

One of the most freeing things I ever learned was that your style isn’t a trap. It’s not a rule you have to obey. It’s not a brand manual you have to stick to like a corporation. It’s a living, breathing extension of you. And you are a living, breathing, changing human being.

So it makes sense that your work will shift. It should. It’s a good thing.

If I could leave you with one real tip — maybe the most important one — it would be this: keep showing up. That’s it. Keep showing up even when you’re not sure what you’re doing. Keep showing up when it feels awkward. Keep showing up when the work looks different from what you pictured. Keep showing up when you make something that feels a little embarrassing. Keep showing up when you surprise yourself.

Because finding your style isn’t about arriving at some perfect destination.
It’s about building a long, honest, evolving relationship with your own creative voice.

If you want to start today, here’s a small challenge:

Set a timer for 15 minutes. Grab whatever art materials you have nearby.
Pick one thing you love — a shape, a color, a texture — and use it to make something. Anything. Don’t plan. Don’t overthink. Just follow the thing you love and see where it takes you.

Then tomorrow, do it again. And the day after that, do it again. Over time, they add up to a body of work that could only have come from you.

I’d love to hear how you explore your style.

Are you in a season of experimenting? Are you refining something you’ve already found? Are you somewhere in between?

Drop a comment and tell me what’s pulling you in right now. I love hearing how other artists are navigating this messy, beautiful journey. Your voice matters. Your vision matters. And your style — whatever shape it takes — is already in you, waiting to be lived into the world.

Keep going. I'm cheering for you.