The Quiet Before the First Brushstroke

Before I paint, there is usually a quiet ritual.

I clean the dried paint from my palette. I choose what music fits the day. Sometimes it is lively and makes me want to move. Sometimes it is instrumental and meditative. Sometimes I need silence.

I straighten my studio—not because everything has to be perfect, but because the condition of my space often reflects the condition of my mind. When I clear what is around me, I can better see what I already have in progress. The noise settles. New ideas have room to appear.

Then I look at the painting in front of me and ask:

What is the biggest-impact step I can take next?

I choose a color. I squeeze fresh paint onto the palette. I make that one move.

I do not try to solve the entire painting anymore.

Once I focus on the next thing directly in front of me, the step after it usually becomes clearer.

Knowing When to Stop

Knowing when a painting is finished is not always a dramatic moment for me.

Sometimes it is simply the realization that I do not want to ruin what is already working.

That does not always come from fear. It comes from knowing where I am in my skill level.

I want my paintings to look close to the source I am working from, but I also love the unexpected surprises that happen along the way. Sometimes a new idea appears while I am painting, or a brushstroke turns into something more beautiful than I planned. When that happens, I try to protect it and allow it to remain part of the piece.

My fairy painting taught me a lot about this.

I am deeply proud of her. She is beautiful, and the painting carries something meaningful for me. But there is a flower in the piece that I am not completely happy with.

At the time, I had not practiced painting many flowers. I reached a point where I knew continuing could muddy the oils or leave me discouraged. So I stopped.

I did not stop because the entire painting had failed.

I stopped because I knew what I could do at that stage of my development.

Maybe I will adjust the flower someday. Maybe I will leave it as it is, as a reminder of where I began. I honestly do not know.

What I do know is that I have continued practicing.

I now have flower vases in my studio, and I am working on other floral paintings. I will become better at painting flowers because I am allowing myself to learn them one painting at a time.

Honoring the Journey and Striving for Excellence

There is a tension between wanting to preserve an older painting as evidence of my growth and wanting every piece I sell to meet my standard of excellence.

Both matter to me.

I want to honor the artist I was when I made the work. I also care about giving someone the best painting I am capable of creating.

If someone owned my fairy painting and later asked me to improve the flower after my skills had grown, I would absolutely do it.

Growth does not make the earlier version shameful. It simply means I know more now.

A painting can hold the truth of where I started while also reminding me that I am still becoming.

When I imagined what the fairy herself might say to me, the answer came clearly:

She has walked past the darkness into the truth of who she is, in her full sovereignty and authenticity.

That sentence feels bigger than the painting.

It speaks to the person I have been becoming while learning how to create.

From Wanting to Be Seen to Helping Others See Themselves

When I first began sharing my art, I think part of me wanted people to see the truth of who I was.

I do not always open myself easily. Speaking can be difficult for me. Sometimes it takes time to organize my thoughts and find words that feel cohesive. Art gave me another way to communicate.

At the beginning, I wanted people to see my worth.

Now, something has shifted.

I still create from a personal place, but I do not need every viewer to interpret a painting exactly as I do. I want people to have their own inner response. I want them to bring their experiences to the work and discover what it might mean to them.

My intention is rooted in healing, but I am not trying to tell anyone how they should feel.

I create from that place and then allow the painting to meet each person wherever they are.

Maybe I once needed my art to say:

Please see me.

Now I hope it quietly says:

Perhaps there is something here that can help you see yourself.

Learning to Recognize My Progress

During this process, I noticed an old thought come out of my mouth:

“I need to grow up.”

The moment I said it, it felt wrong.

It did not resonate with who I am anymore.

That sentence carried an old kind of judgment—as though I had failed to become who I should have been by now. What feels more truthful is that I am learning to recognize my progress and give myself grace and love for what I have already accomplished.

The old ways I protected myself were not created for no reason.

But I have a family now. I have people who love me. I have people who support me. I am learning that I do not have to keep living as though I am always about to be abandoned.

A harsh thought may still appear, but I no longer have to accept it as the truth.

Sometimes growth is not the complete disappearance of negative self-talk.

Sometimes growth is hearing it and realizing:

That does not sound like me anymore.

What My Daughter Saw

Recently, my daughter came into the studio while I was painting.

She looked around and said:

“There are a lot of paintings in here. You have kept practicing.”

She was impressed.

Her words gave me a sense of pride—not only because she noticed how much work I had made, but because she saw the practice behind it.

She saw that improvement does not arrive all at once.

It is built through returning.

Through unfinished pieces, unexpected discoveries, mistakes, experiments, and another attempt.

I hope that by watching me, she is learning to recognize those things in herself too.

I hope she learns that progress deserves to be noticed.

That practice counts before mastery.

That she can give herself grace while still growing.

And that excellence does not require her to hate the person she was before she knew more.

One Brushstroke at a Time

I used to believe I needed to see the entire path before I could begin.

Painting continues to teach me something different.

I do not have to solve the whole canvas.

I only need to recognize the next meaningful step.

Clean the palette.

Choose the music.

Mix the color.

Make the brushstroke.

Then allow the next step to reveal itself.

Perhaps healing works that way too.

Not as one perfect transformation, but as many small moments in which we notice our progress, soften an old judgment, and choose to speak to ourselves with more love.

I am still learning.

I am still practicing.

But when I look around my studio now, I can see the evidence that my daughter saw.

There are a lot of paintings in here.

I have kept going.

Keep Creating With Me

If you’d like to follow my journey as an artist, subscribe to my newsletter for new blog posts, studio updates, and first access to new artwork.

Thank you for spending part of your day with me. I hope this reminds you that your creative voice matters.

Until next time, keep creating, keep exploring, and trust the journey.

Laura