Studio Sessions: Painting Through Resistance

Painting, for me, makes me practice how to move through resistance.

Many times, when I paint, I quietly confront a fear that sits just below the surface—the kind that can paralyze me before a single brushstroke hits the paper. I get to practice continuing despite that feeling, pressing forward until something shifts and I find myself on the other side of it.

When I paint, I’m reminded—again and again—that it doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s not meant to be. No one’s paying me to do this. No one’s watching, critiquing, or waiting for brilliance. The pressure is imagined. And I’m reminded that to learn, I must put paint to paper.

There are moments when the painting looks like a mess. The vision I had in my mind doesn’t translate, and everything feels confusing. At this point, I feel like I should stop and just go do something else. I could decide I’m not a painter and simply continue admiring painters and their work from the sidelines while I do other types of creative work.

But instead, I keep going. I breathe through the hesitation, release the urge to judge what’s in front of me too soon, and lay down another stroke of color. And another. And another.

Eventually, something starts to take shape, and by the end, I’m sometimes a little surprised. There’s something on the page that wasn’t there before. Something I like. Something that came only because I kept going.

Every time I paint, I relearn this lesson: the thing I want is often waiting on the other side of fear and resistance. I just have to keep showing up long enough to find it.