Ceramic bowl

After I began painting in watercolor, I fretted over not having a recognizable style. I figured it might emerge over time. But I worried that maybe I would never develop a unique artistic M.O.
Over the years, I've found a certain freedom in not knowing what my style is. It seems like, if I had a style, it might dictate where a painting goes, how it unfolds. Some of my paintings that I consider my best evolved in their own way, beyond any preconceptions I had. The "style" came from the heart, bypassing the mind, but linked to the subconscious. This might not have been possible if I had a pre-established style that governed the process.
An example is the painting "Luminous Field." My original idea was to paint a series of "Dead Things." I like the colors of dead and dying fall plants: The browns, yellows, reds and golds of leaves and plant stalks, and the core of flowers whose petals have dropped. I took many photos with that in mind. But when I began the painting, something else took over; some other way of seeing.
...
I live in Austin, Texas, where I grew up. I lived and worked New Mexico for 20 years. I have a degree from University of Texas in Austin and an MA from NMSU in Las Cruces. I’m 75 and have had a couple of careers. I’ve been an amateur potter for over 20 years. I’ve sold pottery in several galleries, but I consider myself an amateur because I never worked at it full time, never made my living doing it. I do both hand-built and wheel thrown pieces. 
I also love to sketch, and a few years ago, I began painting in watercolor. I liked sketching and painting portraits. I went to a nearby coffee shop and requested permission to sketch portraits of customers.
When Covid hit, I was in bind: I couldn’t do pottery, as I rent space in a communal studio. The coffee shop closed.
It occurred to me that I always loved horses, and I might find a stable nearby where I could sketch and paint horses out in the pasture, away from anyone.