Practicing The Gentle Art of Slow Looking

Art of Slow Looking and Why It's Changed How I Paint

I've been thinking about how I work, my creative process and my attention to what I'm painting. Or sketching. Not so much in a productivity sense. Not the kind of attention I'd schedule across a morning routine. But a quieter kind. A kind of attention where I feel immersed in the process. 

It's something I feel I've always known is at the heart of my practice. And it turns out, it has a name. Slow Looking.

I first came across the idea properly a few months ago but I think I'd been stumbling towards it for years without realising. There's a moment that happens in the studio, usually after I've been fussing too much, overworking a detail on a flower, second-guessing a colour, where I put the brush down, step back and just look. Not to keep fixing. Not judging, rather to see what's actually there. And how it makes me feel.

And, in that pause is where everything shifts.

Slow looking, as a practice, is what it sounds like. A deliberate decision to stay looking longer to absorb the work. To describe to myself what I see before I decide what it means. Before I make the next mark. To resist the quick read and consider what's there on the canvas. 

In a world of fast-scrolling images on social media, TV and screen at an almost absurd rate, Slow Looking feels quietly radical.

What Slow Looking At Art Actually Involves

It's deceptively simple. I take the time to describe what I see in front to of me, as if I'm explaining my work to my 10 year old self. Not what I think it is. Not how it makes me feel. But what it actually looks like.

What colours have I used?  How do they sit next to each other? Where is the light coming from? What's happening at the edges? How big is it? Is the composition working?

It's the kind of attention as a creative I've learned to cultivate without really formally giving it a name. When I'm working on a painting, I'm constantly in conversation with it, asking myself those questions as the artwork develops. What is this actually doing? What does this mark look like? Is that what I intended or something else? Too raw? Too over-worked?

I find drawing is the same . I like to pick up a pen or pencil, find a new page in my visual diary and draw something, fruit, an interesting jug, bowl or  a gnarly old seed pod. My goal isn't a perfect drawing. Rather the act of looking so closely that I see tiny details that I'd have missed. 

Why It Matters Beyond My Studio

Slow looking isn't just a habit as an artist or for gallery visitors. I think it's a form of visual literacy which feels more necessary now than ever. 

I'm remembering my recent visit to the Tweed Regional Gallery and Margaret Olley Art Centre in Murwillumbah in the Northern Rivers of NSW. I deliberated over Olley's brush strokes, how the transparency of her glazes gave insight into what lay below and her obvious intimacy with her subject matter.

It seems the world around us is swimming in images. The edited ones, AI-generated ones, images designed to provoke or sell or grab our attention before the next thing arrives. Being able to pause and truly look at what's in front of me, to ask what I'm actually seeing, whose perspective is present, what might be missing is a skill I think is worth practising with deliberate intention so I can be fully present with what I experience around me.

How I Practise Slow Looking In My Artwork

In my studio, slow looking takes a few different shapes.

Sometimes it's as simple as sitting with a reference for longer than I think I need to before I pick up a brush. Letting my eye travel. Noticing what I'm drawn to. Or not.

Sometimes it's taking a break from a painting-in-progress to come back with fresh eyes. Not to judge but just to see it more clearly.

Or sometimes it's in the messy middle stage, sitting quietly to consider what works or causes discord. To consider the quality of light coming in from the windows. The way the shadows move across the flowers siting in a jar that I'm painting. The colours that appear in unexpected combinations on the canvas.

Sometimes this practice isn't always comfortable, especially when I feel pressured to produce work. Also, I find sustained attention can feel like exposure because of the need to respond to what I'm seeing. But it's probably in that discomfort where I uncover the most interesting ideas

This year, I'm leaning into it more consciously. In my painting and in how I look at the world generally.

I'd love to know if slow looking is something you've thought about or practised. Whether you're an artist or not. It feels like one of those small things that's surprisingly rewarding.

There's always more to see, if we're willing to stay just a little longer.

If you'd like to see where slow looking takes me next, you can follow along on Instagram, join my newsletter or contact me .