The Genre

First, and most basic: both painting and writing are creative processes that exist within a genre. Genres define boundaries and limitations but also expected levels of abstraction and detail. What is permissible in caricature is not permissible in a classical portrait. The same applies to academic writing. What is appreciated – or even encouraged –in a blog post is hardly acceptable in an academic article.

Yes, some subgenres of academic writing allow for carefully placed humour or a touch of refined, slightly nerdy silliness. Still, words must be chosen with precision, and adjectives picked sparingly and deliberately.

The Mechanics

Once you truly understand your genre, it becomes possible to deduce a kind of recipe for producing the desired outcome – both when painting a picture and when writing a paper. In both cases, it starts with structure. You sketch the skeleton of what is to be produced, and then you execute it. Sound simple enough.

The reality, however, is that the leap between step one and step two is anything but linear. No matter how clear your structure is, you constantly bounce between what you had in mind and what actually appears on the page. You revisit the structure to check whether it still holds once you’ve added a few bells and whistles – or whether it starts collapsing under their weight. You ask yourself whether what you’re writing is consistent with the outline – or whether you’ve followed Alice down a rabbit hole, only hoping and praying to land softly in a pile of autumn leaves.

Much like a mental image of a painting, the idea you are trying to turn into coherent text can suddenly slip through your fingers and run away naked the moment you try to dress it up in words. You realise you lack the precise terms to capture it – or, worse, that you only thought you understood what you were talking about. Back to the homework it is.

It is generally assumed that between the moment an article is written and the moment it is ready to be submitted to a reputable journal, it will go through roughly ten iterations of back-and-forth refinement with your supervisor. While that number sounds intimidating, I find it oddly reassuring. It reminds me not to be too hard on myself when looking at version five and feeling anything but dancing Mambo No. 5. By version seven, you’re so used to the process that you can hardly imagine spending your weekend any other way.

The Innovation

Both painting and academic writing have experienced their share of turbulence caused by technical innovation. Once photography was invented, the need for photographic realism in painting declined. Yet, as we both know – this did not kill painting, it made it look for a new raison d’être. Paintings no longer had to fulfil the function of accurate representation. Instead, they could focus on what photography struggled to capture: atmosphere, mood, sensation. Leaving a lasting impression became central.

A similar shift is currently happening in academic writing, particularly in systematic literature reviews. With AI tools increasingly capable of analysing, organising, and structuring large bodies of literature, the centre of gravity is moving. The mundane work is being accelerated. The real challenge now lies in making sense of what emerges at an aggregated level. As creation speeds up, competition for publication intensifies. At the same time, expectations regarding ethics, content quality, and the value of ideas rise accordingly.

Let me close with a small anecdote that bridges painting and academic writing in spirit. A novice painter once showed his work to a master and asked for feedback. The response went straight to the bone: you can paint like that when you’re old and famous. For now, you have to do it much, much better.