So, class is over. Like so many good things, it wrapped up just as I was starting to fully settle in. As I went through those five immersive weeks, I took tons of notes and spend time reflecting on what I learned about both painting and the kind of artist I want to be.
One of our final class sessions was, honestly, a small disaster. I had just an hour left, and I thought: “Just go for it.” So I dove in, painted quickly, and unfortunately made some absolute garbage. I could feel it the minute I started, but I kept going. Sometimes it’s in those cringey moments that you learn the most, so I figured this is still part of learning. Our instructor stopped by and we got to talking about style—what we like, what we’re drawn to, what we want our work to feel like.
I told her I love art that feels human. Not polished or perfect, but expressive. Something a little childlike—not in a way that’s unskilled, but in a way that’s alive. We talked about artists like David Shrigley and Hunt Slonem, both of whom I admire for their looseness and their humor/whimsy. Not two painters you might expect to talk about in the same breath, but there’s something there that feels connected. At the same time, I realized I’m also drawn to clean styles—not realistic, but sharp, almost graphic. Actually, exactly how my portrait ended up. One of the other students even described it as “sharp,” which felt right. I liked that. I like both.
That’s where I think I’m heading now: learning how to not force myself into a binary. It doesn’t have to be either messy or clean. It can be both. Maybe not in the same piece—or maybe, yes, in exactly the same piece. I don’t know yet, but I’m looking forward to finding out.
This has been a theme in class for me: letting go of being too precious, giving myself permission to experiment, and getting curious about what’s next. Artists evolve. Slonem’s bunnies—now his iconic warm-up pieces—look nothing like his earlier work. Same for Picasso. Same for everyone, if you’re letting yourself evolve. You don’t start with a style. You build it over time, layer by layer, painting by painting, decade by decade.
I’m leaving class without trying to come out with some singular vision of who I am as an artist. I do feel like I’m leaving with better questions, and with more freedom. And I’m also leaving with an excitement to keep painting—messy or neat, sharp or wild—and to see where it takes me.
One Week Out: Finding My Artistic Purpose
I’ve had one week between my final class session and today, and I spent that time on an island, celebrating a birthday with someone I love. I’d wanted to spend the time relaxing, yes, but also keeping an eye out for what lit me up. We decided to get crazy and went on a helicopter tour of the island (the idea of which has always both terrified and thrilled me).
It was amazing.
There are few things that truly move me: great music can do it, certain films or plays, and now I know that gorgeous, natural views can also do it.
I won’t lie: I cried.
We rounded the corner through a green valley, hovering over the hills where white birds nested and flew over the deep ravines, and it just hit me. I couldn’t help the tears.
In that moment, I found it.
That’s what I want to try to capture, which, as I say it, sounds incredibly silly. How can a manmade piece of art ever stack up to the true beauty and experience of nature? I don’t know. I’m not sure if it can, but I know others have been trying for hundreds if not thousands of years. One thing I specifically admire Hunt Slonem for is his commitment to using his art to celebrate the beauty of nature. An anecdote that’s stuck with me is that one man who loved Slonem’s art requested that some of his work be brought into his hospital room as he was dying, so that the last things he would see would be the beauty of those artworks. Can you imagine having that effect on people? Of giving them the gift of that feeling?
If I can make someone feel the way I felt as we floated over those beautiful mountains and oceans, if I can come even one tenth near that, this work and the time I dedicate to it will be worthwhile. It’s clear to me now that this is where I want to go with my art. There are plenty of things that are fun to make, but when it comes down to the heart of it, I want to make work that’s meaningful not in an intellectual way, but in a deep, instinctive way that moves you.
It's Henley 