For years, I hesitated to call myself an artist. Even after university, even after selling my work, even after people told me I was one—I couldn’t say it. It felt like a title reserved for those who worked in a certain way, with a certain medium, following a process that made sense from start to finish. But my way never looked like that.

 When I was younger, I thought being an artist meant choosing a medium and mastering it. Watercolour, acrylic, pencil, oil—pick one and commit. But I never could. I used whatever felt right in the moment, layering different materials in a way that seemed instinctive rather than intentional. It took me years to realise that this wasn’t a lack of discipline or direction. It was just my way.

''Unfolding in Layers''

My process for pet portraits is equally unconventional. I don’t work from left to right or top to bottom. I don’t start with the eyes, despite the age-old advice that “the eyes bring a portrait to life.” Instead, I build in layers, and for most of the process, my work looks odd—unfinished, disproportionate, sometimes even a little unsettling. If someone were to walk in midway through, they’d probably think I’d gone completely wrong.

 But I’ve learned to trust it. 

 ''The Barely-There Beginning’’  

 Every portrait starts with a loose sketch, often in blue or another soft color. This is where I map out the form, but it’s more about feeling the subject’s presence on the paper rather than making everything perfect. At this stage, it doesn’t look much like the final result, but I know where I’m going—even if no one else does yet.

''Letting Go of "The Right Way"

For a long time, I let doubt creep in. I’d watch other artists paint smoothly from start to finish, or create perfect, polished sketches before they even began, and I’d wonder: Am I doing this wrong? But art isn’t about following a formula. It’s about finding a way to translate what you see and feel into something real—something that resonates.  

 ''Building Texture, Not Perfection’’  

 As I begin adding paint, ink, or pencil, the piece starts to take shape—but not in the way most people might expect. I don’t start with the eyes. I don’t build from left to right. Instead, I focus on layers of texture, laying down color in patches that will eventually blend into the full portrait. At this point, it often looks a little odd. Uneven. Messy. But that’s part of the magic.  

 Now, at 27, I finally say it: I am an artist. Not because I follow a traditional process, but because I don’t. Because I’ve learned to lean into the way I create, even when it doesn’t look how I expect it to at first. Because I’ve stopped trying to make my process fit someone else’s definition of art.

There’s no right way to be an artist. There’s only your way. And that’s enough.

Want to See More?

If you’d like to commission a pet portrait, visit my Etsy shop: 👉 CraftedByMhairi

Or check out more of my work on my website: 👉 www.craftedbymhairi.co.uk