Last week’s class was a whirlwind of clarity, frustration, and small victories—all of which helped me better understand who I am as an artist and what kind of creative life I want to build.
One of the biggest struggles last week was the portrait assignment we’ve been given to do on the canvas we constructed. The instructor asked us to work in a way that felt totally different from how I naturally create: no drawing first (‘sketching’ an underpainting with the brush only), matching colors exactly, and focusing on realism. For me, this approach felt like it sucked the life and fun out of everything. It didn’t feel creative at all—it felt like I was trying to cram myself into someone else’s mold. I knew this before, but I truly realized that I don’t want to chase realism or portraits unless they’re more illustrative and colorful. I want to play with saturated, vibrant colors that might not exist in nature, and show things not as they are but as I imagine them. When people see my art, I want them to smile, to feel a sense of levity or lightness alongside calmness. Just realizing this was liberating. Accepting that the assignments aren’t where my heart is, and that’s okay, felt great. (I did go home and spend over an hour just drawing portraits, to remind myself that yes! I have artistic skill—it’s not gone 😆
Meanwhile, the still life piece I’d been working on since the week before finally got graded. We were told we could submit a photo now, even if we weren’t done, and could keep working on the piece and submit a final photo if we wanted. I turned in a photo of my partially finished work, and got back my grade: 23 out of 30 points. Ouch! Haha—my inner perfectionist immediately bristled, tempted to go back and fix every detail I got ‘wrong.’ But I had to pause and remind myself of a lesson I’ve learned before and tried to carry into moments like this: selective incompetence. Sometimes, you just have to choose what you’re willing to be ‘bad at’ so you can focus your time and energy on what actually matters to you. I hated that still life, so I decided to take the C grade and move on. Thank you, next! This art journey is meant to be enjoyable and sustainable for the next 50–60 years. With that kind of time on my hands, working on something that frustrates me is not the way to get there.
There was a bright spot during the week, though: Some leftover linen from our canvas-making were left in the studio—little pieces too small to stretch on a frame but perfect for experimentation. I’ve been intrigued by these artists I see working on loose canvas they put up on the wall and then (presumably) stretch onto frames once the piece is done. So I gessoed them all and took them home, along with some small wood scraps so I can try it out for myself on a small scale. It felt weirdly good to have these tiny surfaces to play on, without any pressure or expectations. Not totally sure what I’ll do with them, but I currently have silly idea to paint little tennis courts on them. (Delightful!) I don’t know why exactly, but I’ve been really drawn to aerial photos of tennis courts lately—something about the peaceful and orderly geometry. These scraps gave me a taste of freedom in the studio, a chance to follow my curiosity and work in a process that feels more like me.
That sense of freedom extends beyond my painting technique and subject matter—it’s also how I want to approach my art business. I’ve been soaking up a lot of strategic business advice lately, but I have a feeling that my style of business won’t about rigid plans and detailed calculations. It’ll be more like surfing: you prepare yourself and your gear, put yourself in the right environment, know the waves you want, and then stay present and ready to ride whatever comes your way. For me, that means building artistic and business skills quietly and steadily, showing up consistently in communities like here and on social media, and creating an online store where people can find my work. It means being open to opportunities I didn’t even know I wanted—like learning about murals, art licensing, or product making—so when those waves roll in, I’m ready to catch them.
This whole mindset shift reminded me of a trip I took earlier this year to Mexico with my family. We toured some Mayan ruins, and because the walk was too far for the short time we had, we had to take a pedicab. I surprised the driver by asking in Spanish how far the ruins were. He seemed kind of pleased to speak with me, and my niece was interested to see me chatting in another language. That moment, small as it was, reminded me of the power of quietly building skills and having them ready to pull out when you need them. It’s a perfect metaphor for my creative journey: cultivating the unseen tools and habits so I can navigate whatever comes next with ease.
Last week was a struggle in some ways, for sure, and it also taught me that the real magic happens when I stop trying to meet other people’s expectations and start showing up fully for myself. When I create for me—imperfect, joyful, free—I find my flow. That’s where my art feels alive, and that’s where I want to live as an artist and entrepreneur for the long haul.
It's Henley 