I've been working on a painting. And I hate it.

Roger and I relocated to North Carolina towards the end of summer to manage daily operations of our factory. We left behind family, friends, and our farm to once again haul all our stuff across the country to a new town where we knew basically no one. As will shock absolutely none of you that have been following along, we moved into a home in need of renovation.

So we're in the midst of reinventing a house once again.

It's a small midcentury home, more manageable and realistic for our demanding schedule and limited time. It has potential, despite currently possessing curb appeal that would rank in the negative numbers on the Zillow scale. Roger has politely asked that I stop referring to it as "an ugly little spud of a house," but my dad, upon seeing a photo of it, asked if it had previously been a doctor's office. So...there's that.

But there are good points. There are funky, original kitchen cabinets, lovely golden maple wall panels, a sunken living room, skylights, a surprisingly spacious layout, and a foyer with an original slate floor.

The front door of the home opens into that foyer and leaves you looking at a large, blank wall. A wall that is begging for a big piece of abstract art.

Can we afford a big piece of abstract art? Considering we have to rip out the musty wall-to-wall carpet, find a cooktop that can boil water in less than a lunar year, and do SOMETHING with the aging bathrooms, no. Art of that scale is not in the budget.

What do you do when faced with such a challenge? Well, you try to create something of your own. In past homes, Roger and I have printed abstract photographs, painted canvases, even hand-painted our walls when the wallpaper we REALLY wanted was outside of our budget. A blank canvas, paint, and time — none of these things are free, but they won't break the bank.

So I bought a canvas, found some acrylic paint in the closeout aisle of the local art store, and set out to create something colorful, abstract, and...acceptable.

I have no artistic training. I have no intention of holding anything I create up against the amazing work of the many talented artists I know. But this could be a placeholder — a "watch this space" piece — to help our new house feel a bit more finished until we can replace it with the perfect painting.

I've worked on it during this long holiday weekend. I rarely have downtime, but these few days offer a chance to tackle projects like this. Having come down with a cold on Christmas Eve, I've been unable to enjoy the nice weather or do any more demanding projects. I could either sitting on the sofa watching episodes of Columbo or paint. I painted. (I also watched a lot of Columbo, truth be told.)

Anyway, I've been working on this thing for a few days now and...I hate it. I hate everything about it. I hate the colors. I hate the shapes I chose. I hate it up close and I hate it from a distance. I don't want to hang it on a wall. I want to bury it in the backyard.

What now?

A lot of creative pursuits are like this, and getting to a sticking point of "I should like this; I chose all of these things; and yet I hate it" is a remarkably common position in which to find yourself. I speak to homeowners around the country every day and frequently hear comments like, "This just isn't coming together the way I had hoped," or, "I like all of these things but I don't like them together."

What do you do when you feel like your design efforts are failing? I have a few suggestions drawn from personal experience and working with others.

• Don't force it. If you aren't in love with the direction things are heading, there's a point at which you need to stop. Have you ever found yourself cooking — making a sauce perhaps — and it just isn't right? You add a little of one spice, and then a little of another, and then another, and instead of magically making the sauce work it just makes it wrong in new ways? Stop. It isn't going to happen. You may have to start fresh.
• Pull it apart. Let's say you like every element in a room — you picked all of these things, after all — but they aren't working together. Tear it down. — and slowly add them back in. Maybe the layout was wrong. Maybe the rug is great but just not right for the room. Maybe the mix of colors is off. Try to control for variables to figure out if one or two elements are throwing the whole thing out of balance.
• Get some distance. When you're working on a project and fully IN IT, your perspective can become skewed. Step away from it for a bit. Let it sit. Don't stress about it for a few days. Your mind has a funny way of coming up with solutions to these sticking points, but you need time to think and trying to do so under pressure is often counterproductive. It's a living room, not an emergency. Breathe.
• Envision the opposite. What would the room look like if you flipped one element for something dramatically different? What if your walls were navy instead of taupe? What if your armchair was orange instead of green? I'm not saying DO those things, but imagine them — would the room be better or worse? Why?
• Consider your alternatives. We can feel locked in when we decide that a piece of furniture or art can only exist in one specific room of our home. That isn't always the case. Perhaps the painting that doesn't fit in your living room would work perfectly well in a hallway. Perhaps an armchair would be a nice addition to a bedroom. Rethinking a space doesn't mean throwing away elements; it can be as simple as repurposing them in different spaces.
• Call in backups. While I don't believe in design by committee, feedback from friends or design professionals you trust can be helpful. This is less about expecting answers to your design hurdles and more about getting another's perspective. They have some separation from the project and consequently may see options you do not.

I know that it's frustrating when things don't immediately gel the way you had imagined. But it doesn't mean failure, and it usually doesn't mean you have to start again from scratch. Just break things down, get some distance, and be open to making adjustments. Oftentimes, the end result of a revised design will be even better than you had imagined.

What am I going to do with my ugly painting? Well, I'm running out of holiday weekend here, so it's going to have to wait until I have some more time (and/or I run out of Columbo re-runs to watch). But I will probably start over with something different. Monet reused his canvases. If it was okay for Monet, it'll be okay for me.