Beautiful Chaos: When Curiosity Returned

When I first picked up a paintbrush, I was not trying to become a professional artist.

I was simply curious.

Around 2018 or 2019, I discovered The Art Sherpa, Cinnamon Cooney. Her light spirit made painting feel approachable and fun. I could sit down with a canvas, pause and rewind the video, use the same paints, copy the same brushstrokes, and watch an image slowly appear.

For a little while, that was enough.

Then I realized I did not only want to know what brushstroke came next. I wanted to know why.

Why was that color chosen? Why did those shapes work together? How could someone look at a blank canvas and create something that belonged to them?

I have always been good at following instructions. Sometimes I follow them so closely that it works against me. I could reproduce the steps in a tutorial, but there was no self-expression in it. I could finish one video and believe I could probably copy another one too, but I still did not feel capable of creating something from myself.

I did not want to sell work built from someone else’s ideas or sources. I wanted to understand the process deeply enough to make my own decisions.

Because I did not know how to do that, I stopped painting.

Wanting More Than Instructions

Years later, after a difficult period of personal change and reflection, I began asking where I wanted my path to go.

I remember confronting the painful feeling that my mind was closed off—that I had no free ideas of my own. It brought up shame, embarrassment, isolation, and sadness. I wanted to create, but I could not fully imagine what to create.

That experience pointed me toward a decision: I needed to learn how to do more than follow.

I had already completed a few shorter tutorials from the Milan Art Institute, and eventually I enrolled in the full program.

I believed—or at least tried to believe—that one year later I would be selling paintings easily, coming up with ideas, sharing them online, and watching my bank account grow. After years of staying home with my son, I wanted to contribute a steady income to my family. There was guilt attached to not working outside the home, and painting became connected to the hope that I could finally build something of my own.

I imagined the paintings and the income.

I did not imagine everything the journey would uncover.

The Program Became a Mirror

I thought I was signing up to learn color, composition, drawing, value, edges, and technique.

I did learn those things.

But I also began seeing myself.

I saw my perfectionism. I saw how deeply I relied on instructions. I saw my fear of getting proportions wrong, my frustration when I could not draw something the way I wanted, and the way one difficult painting could make me step away for weeks or months.

I began finding my beliefs, my fears, and my insecurities inside the work.

There was so much that got unpacked when I opened this program.

Sometimes a problem in a painting did not feel like a simple technical issue. It felt devastating. A misplaced feature or incorrect proportion could become evidence that I was failing. The pressure was not only coming from the canvas. The canvas had become tied to income, identity, responsibility, and the hope that all of this time and money would eventually lead somewhere.

Painting was carrying far more than paint.

When Curiosity Became Pressure

Somewhere along the way, painting stopped feeling like an open question and began feeling like a demand.

I needed to finish school. I needed to remember the processes. I needed to create original sources. I needed a portfolio, a website, a blog, an email list, content, products, and sales.

Every task seemed to reveal several more tasks behind it.

The dream was still mine, but I had placed a deadline around it. I was trying to turn it into a business quickly enough to help support my family, and that made every painting feel serious.

When I struggled, I sometimes treated the struggle as proof that I was not capable. When I stepped away, I felt guilty. When I returned, I often expected myself to make up for lost time.

But no one else was going to complete the painting for me.

I had to return to it.

That realization has become one of the most important lessons of this entire journey.

Remembering What It Felt Like

Lately, something has begun changing.

Not dramatically. Quietly.

I painted a fox because I loved the playfulness and curiosity in its expression as it peeked over a tree.

I began my first plein-air painting at Woahink Lake while Nathan took Declan on his first boat ride. I experimented with a seashell painting using drips, dark passages, and texture because I wanted to see where it might go.

During those moments, I sometimes forgot about the business.

I was not calculating whether the painting would sell. I was not thinking about a portfolio requirement or a content schedule. I was simply interested in what might happen with the next brushstroke.

I have not completely found the fun again. I am still learning how to let painting be playful while also building a business around it.

But I remembered what curiosity felt like.

And that matters.

What I Would Tell Another Artist

If you are beginning a serious art program, you will learn so much—not only about painting, but about yourself.

You may begin noticing your habits, your fears, your patterns, and how you respond when something feels difficult. Under pressure, growth can happen quickly, but you are also allowed to move more slowly.

It does not all have to be completed in one year.

You are allowed to repeat lessons. You are allowed to pause. You are allowed to take the time you need to understand what you are learning.

The most important thing is this:

If you step away, always come back.

You will finish the painting. You will learn the lesson. You will grow.

Take your time. Experiment. Do not be afraid to be curious. Let yourself have fun where you can, one step at a time.

I am still building the business I hoped for. I am beginning to see income through print sales. I am meeting people at vendor markets and forming warm leads while also meeting kindred souls. The path has taken longer and asked more of me than I expected, but it is moving.

Curiosity did not disappear.

It was buried beneath responsibility, pressure, and fear.

Now, little by little, it is returning.

Keep Creating With Me

If this story resonated with you, join me as I continue building this creative life—one painting, one lesson, and one imperfect step at a time.

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Thank you for being part of my Beautiful Chaos. Laura