From Prompt to Pattern

Some patterns arrive like they know exactly who they are.

Others show up as a vague idea, a deadline, a tiny nudge that quietly asks: what if?

Design challenges tend to sound loud and competitive from the outside. In my studio, they usually start much more quietly. A blank canvas. A short prompt. That familiar mix of curiosity and doubt that shows up whenever I begin something new.

What I love most about projects like this is how inspiration often comes from everyday life. From colors I notice in the garden, from seasonal shifts, and from those quiet creative moments that happen in between work, routines, and real life.

This particular pattern began as an entry for a Spoonflower design challenge. What I didn’t know then was that it wouldn’t stop there. It slowly grew beyond that first brief and turned into a full collection of its own.

This is a little look behind the scenes at how that happened.

What a Spoonflower Design Challenge Is (and How I Use It)

Spoonflower is a print-on-demand platform where I publish many of my surface pattern designs and test new ideas out in the open. One of the ways they keep designers moving is through regular design challenges built around specific themes or prompts.

You get a brief. And a deadline. And a very helpful reason to stop circling and start.

Some designers thrive on the competitive side of it. Others are there for the visibility. I use challenges differently.

For me, they’re less about winning and more about momentum.

A clear prompt is like someone quietly pressing “start” when my ideas feel scattered. It takes the pressure off inventing the perfect concept and replaces it with permission to begin. I don’t enter expecting polish. I enter expecting movement.

One idea that pushes me. Sometimes it leads into well-known territory and sometimes into completely unexpected directions. But I'm happy, even excited, to come along for the ride.

Starting Small: Sketches, Color Tests, and Uncertainty

Once I have a prompt, I almost never jump straight into a finished pattern. I start much smaller. Loose sketches. Shape studies. Color notes scribbled in the margins. At this stage, I’m not trying to solve the design. I’m trying to listen.

For this challenge, I found myself drifting toward to mid-century inspired shapes and a palette that felt warm but grounded: coral, mustard, navy. Colors with a quiet hum to them. I played with curves and repetition, testing how different shapes interacted and where a sense of rhythm began to emerge.

While working on these patterns, I kept imagining how they might live in a home, on cushions, fabric, or small everyday details that make a space feel warmer and more personal. I love thinking of patterns not just as designs on a screen, but as part of cozy, lived-in spaces.

There’s always a moment where things feel uncertain. The pattern isn’t there yet, and it’s tempting to abandon it for something easier. I’ve learned to stay a little longer in that phase. That’s usually where the interesting decisions start happening.

When One Pattern Turns Into a Collection

A Few Things This Process Reminded Me Of

Working within a challenge reinforced a few principles I come back to often in my studio practice:

• A prompt is  a starting point, not a verdict.
• Constraints can be useful. They give your attention somewhere to land.
• Repetition builds rhythm - both visually and creatively.
• Not every experiment needs immediate visibility to matter.

Some ideas need time to stretch before they settle.

Letting ideas evolve, adjusting details, and allowing inspiration to grow naturally often leads to designs that feel more meaningful than rushing to finish something quickly. Challenges like this remind me why I enjoy slow, thoughtful creation.

Looking Back (and Forward)