Lessons in Painting

When I was about 4 or 5 years old, my uncle interviewed each of us to find out our interests and what we wanted to be when we grew up in order to tailor his presents for us. I definitely didn’t know what a therapist was back then, so you won’t see that on my list but my main interest at that time was art — specifically painting.

It took returning to it during this time of isolation for me to realize the lessons that I have learned from painting.

I spent those early childhood years painting as often as possible. I don’t have any memories of doing it, but childhood photos tell the story. My parents were sweet enough to fill up a wall in our dining room with my paintings from floor to ceiling for family to buy them. And my family was encouraging enough to actually buy some of them for a quarter. However, by the time I was school-aged, I moved on to playing with other toys and stopped painting altogether.

As an adult, I decided to return to the art of painting. My friend and I enrolled in a beginner’s painting class through the City of Tempe. We had the most encouraging instructor, who made you feel like you could produce beautiful art while teaching you new techniques along the way. I decided to continue with these classes after my divorce and enrolled in a Plein Air painting class with him. I was surprised at how easy he made it seem and felt pretty proud of the art I made.

When I moved to Los Angeles, I found myself digging out my acrylics again. I spent most days alone, as I didn’t work and only went to school every other weekend. I went to bikram yoga and a coffee shop to study several times a week, which only took up so much of my day. Spending those days in solitude had me turning to painting again. I struggled to remember some of the lessons learned in class and didn’t paint too many things that I felt especially proud of, so I eventually stopped again.

Since then, I have claimed painting as a great exercise in accepting that I am not perfect. I can admit that I am no Vincent Van Gogh or Frida Kahlo. I recognized that choosing to paint meant that I was choosing to take a deep breath and let go of my need for perfection.

I’m realizing now that I dug out my paint supplies from the back of my closet where they have been since my return from LA, that it is my solo activity. I imagine that I must have started painting to pass the time while my siblings were in school and I was too young to join them. Now as I look back at the times I felt most inspired to paint, I was alone. So right now, while there is no pressure to connect with anyone or do anything in particular, I am once again turning towards my art.

Most importantly, I find that I am learning new lessons from the process.

Not only is it a great exercise for my perfectionism, but I find it’s a great metaphor for life. I had the realization after completing my latest painting, how valuable the process of it was. When I started the painting the previous week, I did it with the belief that there was no way I was going to get it to look anything like the photo that I was using as inspiration. I hadn’t painted anything too complicated with too many variables or different shapes. But in finding myself feeling like I couldn’t safely or comfortably hike, I was missing the outdoors and turned to memories of previous National Park adventures. I chose an image from my visit to Yosemite National Park last year. It’s a place that holds a lot of significance for me since I first saw Ansel Adam’s Half Dome photo back in high school.

I thought, what the hell, I don’t have anything else to do so might as well give it a shot. Or more accurately, I decided to give myself the opportunity to try something new with little expectation. Because I like to paint by sunlight versus artificial light, I have only been doing it on the weekends when I am free during the day. The first weekend’s work on it left me dissatisfied. I added more and more paint to the sky, as I couldn’t decide on the feeling I wanted from it.

I returned to it the next weekend, not feeling especially hopeful. As I grappled with how to best try to shape Half Dome against the mountains in the background and show some kind of rock formation moving towards the foreground, I got to work. The more paint I added, the more confident I started to feel. I played my favorite music and got to painting while dancing. The hours passed without notice, as I was thoroughly engrossed and delighted in the experience. As I added the last bit of highlights to the greenery, I knew it was time to add in the waterfall.

::DUN DUN DUUUNNNN::

I was certain that I was about to screw up the whole thing. I didn’t know the first thing about painting any kind of water formation. I thought back to the Bob Ross episodes that I had watched as a kid and later, as an adult, when they were added to Netflix. I took a deep breath and held it as I made my first waterfall brush stroke. Damn, I fucked up. I tried again — added more paint, wiped away excess paint, added more paint again, until I finally stepped back and admired the entire canvas.

I thought, daaammnn when did I become decent at this??

That’s when the real lesson hit me. Progress will likely be messy, disappointing at times, and feel like you’re fucking up the whole damn thing. You may find yourself starting over, retracing your steps, finding a new path to take, but eventually you will step back and be able to admire the beauty in the result. You will be able to admire the beauty in the process.

So, when you feel like you’re not moving forward and like things seem to be looking worse, know that you are still making progress. There is no going back to how it was because you aren’t that person anymore — whether it’s five days ago or five years ago. Like starting over on a painting, you won’t make the same brush strokes again. You will make new brush strokes and build on the knowledge from your previous experience. Don’t give up. And don’t be afraid to get a little messy.