st(art)ing
My last art lesson was way back in middle school.
Unable to participate in gym due to an injury, I sat in on an art class.
I remember painting underwater seascapes and savannah sunsets, laughing with my classmates, and feeling a sense of rebellious freedom. It became a class I looked forward to.
But despite the joy I found, I never signed up for another art class. Science and band took priority for the rest of my electives, and by the time I reached university, math and science completely took over.
One day, I looked around and realized I had no creative outlet. I was no longer playing music, my writing had dried up, gardening brought more frustration than joy, and I found myself staring at bland cream walls that lulled me to sleep.
Looking for the answer, I picked up a Community Education brochure from my friend’s table. As I browsed through the offerings, a painting class caught my eye and remembered how I much I enjoyed painting all the years before.
For the entire class, my inner critic screamed at me.
“This isn’t right. You don’t know what you’re doing, This is ugly.”
Then, randomly, my mind slipped into a moment of silence. The buzz of thoughtsstilled and in that moment, I was the painting.
And with each brushstroke, the scene slowly came together.
That’s how The Dandelion, my first painting, came to be.
I was hooked.
After that, I signed up for more classes. Painting one picture a month became my News Years Resolution.
I began signed up for several classes throughout the year, filling in the gaps with Bob Ross. Eventually, I felt brave enough to paint on my own, without a guide.
It’s funny to think of painting as brave. It’s one of the most harmless things I can do—just putting color on a brush and spreading it across a canvas. Yet every time I face the blank surface, I’m daunted by it, afraid of the mistakes I’ll make.
Painting taps into a part of my mind that’s hard to put into words; it’s a constant balancing act between my desire to be perfect and my need to create, to express, to explore, to let go.
“Perfect is the enemy of good.” I remind myself, and then I continue.
