(Because sometimes the only soundtrack you need is the wind and a cat judging you.)

People always ask me what I listen to while I paint. Music? Podcasts? Audiobooks? True crime? Meditation playlists with names like “Ocean Breeze Serenity Hour”?

Nope. I paint in silence.

Actual silence. Well… as silent as it can be when you live with three long‑haired cats and the wind is constantly auditioning for a dramatic role in a desert opera.

Let me explain.

🌬️ The Soundtrack of My Studio

My “studio” is technically my bedroom, but we’re calling it a studio because it sounds more professional and less like I’m one paint spill away from disaster.

I have two windows by my work station. They open. The light comes in. I see palm trees and mountains. I hear the wind. Sometimes I hear rain — but this is the desert, so that’s basically a holiday.

It’s peaceful. It’s calm. It’s quiet.

And that’s exactly how I like it.

🎨 Silence Helps Me Focus (Mostly)

Painting cats requires concentration. Lines. Shapes. Color choices. Remembering to add tails and whiskers — which, shockingly, I still forget.

If I had music on, I’d get distracted. If I had a podcast on, I’d get invested. If I had the TV on, I’d end up watching something instead of painting.

Silence keeps me in the zone. It’s just me, the canvas, and the occasional existential crisis about whether the green I’m using is too green. (It never is.)

😼 The Cats Provide Their Own Commentary

Of course, “silence” is a relative term when you live with Noah, Tessy, and GG.

Noah wanders in and out like he’s checking on the staff. Tessy supervises from a distance with the energy of a disappointed art teacher. GG appears silently behind me like a Victorian ghost and scares me half to death.

They don’t need to make noise. Their presence is loud enough.

And honestly? Their silent judgment is part of the creative process.

🧘 Silence Is My Version of Meditation

Some people meditate. Some people journal. Some people do yoga.

I paint in silence.

It’s the only time my brain stops running around like a cat at 3 a.m. The quiet helps me think. It helps me breathe. It helps me create.

It’s the calm before the chaos of market week, CatCon prep, and whatever questionable decision I make next.

🌞 The Quiet Is Part of the Art

The silence, the light, the palm trees, the mountains, the cats, the stillness — it all becomes part of the painting.

Every brush stroke is a moment of quiet. Every color choice is a breath. Every finished piece is a little snapshot of peace in a life full of chaos, cats, and vintage frames.

So yes — I paint in silence. Not because I’m deep or mysterious. But because it works. And because the cats are loud enough without adding anything else.

Meow for now,

Jeffrey