Painting as Creating Your Own Universe

Painting as Creating Your Own Universe

When I first began my blog, I knew I wanted something more than a simple platform where anyone could upload a few photos and a short caption, like on Meta or Instagram. What I longed for was not just another social space, but something like a painter’s palette—a place where I could dip into colors, one by one, and create an image that was uniquely mine. I wanted a space that, as it filled up, would feel like a work of art in itself. A place I could point to and say proudly,

“This is mine.”

Like a home, such a space requires effort. It means sweeping the floors, fixing what’s broken, rearranging the furniture, and carefully tending to the atmosphere. But the joy comes from knowing that the house belongs to you. That’s how I envisioned my blog—an online home, my very own universe.

At the beginning, I opened this site for a practical reason. As an artist, when people showed curiosity about my background and work, I wanted to be able to say, “You can visit annakoh.com.” In that sense, this site was like my digital business card, neatly linking together my projects, my art, and my identity. For an independent artist who must handle every aspect of promotion and sales on her own, it wasn’t just useful—it was essential.

Before I had this space, I had to pay to display a single piece in an online gallery. I had to compete, wait anxiously for acceptance, and be grateful even if my work was shown for only a few weeks. Looking back, I realize it wasn’t really my fault—I simply didn’t have my own space yet. Without a universe of my own, I had no choice but to play in someone else’s house, no matter how crowded or limiting.

Now, things are different. I no longer need permission to show my art or my daily reflections. I can post freely, and each post becomes a natural extension of my work and my brand. Even better, what I share sometimes leads directly to income. Marketing has become more fluid and authentic, no longer forced. Sometimes, companies and individuals even reach out asking me to promote their work. That in itself is proof of growth: I have reached a point where I can amplify someone else’s voice, not just my own. When I reflect on the years behind me—uncertain, difficult, and often discouraging—I feel immense gratitude. Every step was worth it. And that is why I continue to move forward.

Recently, while visiting Washington, D.C., I wandered through several galleries and was struck by something unexpected. The paintings I saw—famous works by great masters—did not always feel painstakingly polished or obsessively detailed. Many were, in fact, loose, casual, almost tossed onto the canvas. In the past, I might have missed this. I used to look at art only for its beauty. But as I’ve grown older, my perspective has changed.

Those seemingly effortless strokes carried enormous weight. They were the works that shifted the course of art history, the ones that opened new directions. And I began to wonder: perhaps the masters did not pick up their brushes with the thought, “I must make history today.” Instead, maybe that small canvas was simply their only outlet—the only place where they could fully reveal themselves and cry out to the world. That canvas was their universe. That painting was their lifeline, their salvation. And maybe that is why, when we stand before such works, we feel reverence and a deep, unexplainable emotion.

Life, after all, is not fair or easy. It is often filled with disappointment, injustice, and brokenness. The world can appear distorted, like an image through a convex or concave lens, or even through shattered glass. Sometimes, surviving with a clear mind feels nearly impossible. In such a world, art becomes freedom. It becomes rescue, hope, and happiness. It is the one place where we can cry out with honesty, unfiltered, unwarped.

The more I paint, the more I realize how closely art resembles life itself. That realization gives me chills. It pulls me deeper into art’s mystery, making me more earnest, more eager to learn. Painting is no longer just the act of laying down color or form. It is the act of pulling stars from within myself and placing them carefully in the universe I am building.
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To paint, then, is to create your own cosmos. It is to carve out a space that is uniquely yours, where every stroke is a declaration: I exist. I see. I feel. This is my world.

Discover how building my own blog became more than just an online portfolio—it grew into a personal universe where art, life, and self-expression connect. A reflection on painting, freedom, and finding meaning in creative work.