The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely.

-- Carl Jung

Yesterday, I visited David Mankin. David is a Cornish painter whose abstract work has consistently gained in popularity since he began working as an artist 10 years ago. He's also one of the nicest people you could meet.

I was meeting him to record a class for my artist community Art Tribe, so we talked mostly about his process of abstracting from reality. It was fascinating stuff and I can't wait to share it with members, but I was most struck by something else.

We began by chatting about how he started his painting career. He described how he had been given weekend access to a friend's studio - a few days to really let loose and make some paintings. Over those few days, he made multiple paintings, one of which was later spotted by a gallery owner. Impressed, she offered him representation on the spot.

This is a great story of course, but I found it so interesting that David had the confidence to make the most of that weekend. That he made something so interesting and unique it attracted the attention of a London gallery owner. Had I been given that same opportunity 10 years ago, I wouldn't have made anything exciting or interesting. At the start of my painting career I was dabbling around the edges, being timid, mimicking others. David did none of that - he threw himself into making his own unique work.

He explained that, having been offered the space, he wanted to make the most of it. So he did some intense introspection, looking into his passions and interests, reviewing his childhood, and looking at photos and paintings that inspired him.

In other words, he launched himself into exploring his own voice.

As we talked, we kept coming back to this one central idea - that an artist must mine his or herself for inspiration. Many early-stage artists start by looking outside ourselves (personally I wasted a good few years doing that). Outside inspiration is important for sure - but it's most effective when it's used the way David used it - as a signpost to what matters most to you.

And it comes back to the concept of self-acceptance. It's about noticing whether you prefer paint or clay or wood. It's about noticing whether you like canvas or wood or paper. It's about honouring each of your preferences rather than dismissing them.

A beginner artist might say "I love charcoal but real artists seem to use paint so I must do that" or "I adore bright colours, but proper artists use more muted colours, so I must too."

The problem is that by ignoring your own preferences, you silence your own voice. It's as if you walk round doing an impression of someone else, instead of just being yourself.

While I am here in Cornwall, I've done a lot of sketching, capturing memories and impressions in a series of different books. I've done a little of this on location, but I find it a frustrating experience. Pages get blown in the wind, my water pot falls over, I can't find the crayon I'm looking for .... and the discomfort translates into my sketches, which are often stiff and contrived. (My mind is too distracted by trying to stop everything from blowing away!)

Others artists do this brilliantly, but it's just not for me. I've made my most lively and interesting drawings when I get back to my cottage in the evenings. I can spread out all my things, I can stop worrying about the wind, and I can lose myself in the feelings of the day.

I drew this one after spending a few hours on a beach at low tide - I loved the view of the rocky foreshore, then the hills and rooftops of the village above us

This one will always remind me of sitting in a cafe overlooking the bay at Lizard Point, the occasional seal bobbing in the water below, and a hopeful sparrow perched on the railing next to my crab sandwich ...

And this one recalls my first trip to a ruined tin mine - but certainly not the last!

Once upon a time, I would have told myself these don't count because I didn't make them on location. Now I know that's rubbish. It's my art. I get to decide how I prefer to make it. I get to decide what counts.

I talked about this idea on last week's Art Juice podcast (find that here if you missed it) but I'm not sure I stressed how important it is for your art. Yes, self-acceptance makes us happier and more productive, but it also greatly improves our art.

Because David accepted his own preferences without question, he made unique art right from the start. When that gallery owner visited his house (to meet his artist wife), she was struck immediately by the quality of his work. It was different from anything she had seen before.

Think about this for a minute ... can you imagine how many derivative art works a gallery owner must see? Time after time they must look at a new portfolio, only to have their heart sink when they see it's yet another wanna-be Basquiat or another pale imitation of O' Keefe.

But when you honour your own interests and your own preferences, you can't possibly make derivative work. So that means looking at other artist's work as a springboard rather than a template. It means listening to yourself and observing yourself and mining your life story for clues. What things do you remember from your early life? Why do you remember that rather than something else? What paintings do you buy? Why do you choose those ones? What colours do you wear? Why? What music gets you going? Why?

Making personal, unique art doesn't guarantee that everyone will like your work - in fact, it pretty much guarantees the opposite. Some people really WON'T like it. But the ones who do - they will REALLY like it. It will speak to them in a profound way and some of them will want to buy your art.

Carl Jung might be right that self-acceptance is terrifying - but it's also the route to your best work. Surely it's worth a try?