Projects and Persistence in Painting

Twelve years ago, I started a project whose seeds were embedded well before I ever put paintbrush to canvas.

It started when my kids were little. Each and every year around this time, just as the snowfall becomes more regular and the smell of pine becomes more prominent, I’d cozy up with my kids to read the 12 Days of Christmas. 

Of course, reading the book always meant singing the song, and before we knew it, it became a family tradition to make the 12 Days of Christmas a regular part of our holiday celebrations. 

For me, I first fell in love because of the family gathering it inspired, but that love grew deeper when I really took time to explore the different ways the 12 Days were illustrated, and the meanings behind them. Of course, with a song and story that has centuries of history behind it, it’s bound to be disputed -- but that aura of mystery that inspires so many different interpretations is one of the things I love about it.

As with most things I love in life, I began to brainstorm how I might incorporate the 12 Days of Christmas into my painting practice. What evolved was more than I could’ve originally imagined.

The 12 Years of Christmas

In the initial year, I took the first verse... 

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree.”

...and I painted my version of it. 

That painting became my Harris Studios holiday card for the year. As soon as I was finished, I started brainstorming what next year’s, those two turtle doves, would look like. Needless to say, I was quickly committed to a 12-year project.

Making it mine

Despite it being a painting that I would normally only tackle around November or December, this project tended to stay on my mind all year long. As a result, each year’s painting (and therefore holiday card) reflected my interpretation of that year’s verse, much inspired by what was going on in my life, my business, or the world at that time. 

This year’s painting is no different. As I approached the final year of the project -- 12 drummers drumming -- I couldn’t help but think of the divided nature of today’s society; the negativity that’s been prevalent in much of this year’s news; the easy way in which we’ve forgotten all the light in the midst of all the dark.

It led to one of my most important paintings (above) and messages yet: 

“Listen for the beat, the blending of our spirits. For we’re all in this together. Find the similarities. Celebrate the differences. This season, let’s send joy to the world as we take time to center ourselves and to help others find peace and love.” 

Practicing persistence in a prolonged painting project

I’m incredibly proud of what this series has become, but that’s not to say that it’s been easy. Any prolonged project requires a certain air of persistence and self-determination, and this was no different.

I had to overcome the lure of distractions by remembering that other projects could be pursued both around this one and after it’s complete.

I had to overcome the itch to skip a year when it just felt like it was too much by remembering all those who’ve told me that they save my cards year after year and couldn’t wait for the next one.

I had to push past the inner naysayer who liked to creep up and tell me that this didn’t matter by having a constant reminder at-the-ready: That there’s the surface value of having a painting painted, but the internal work and meaning behind it is what matters, always.

Prolonged persistence is a true test for anyone, anywhere -- but especially for creatives who love to dream.

But like any project that you’re proud of and that stands to help others: It’s completely worth it.

Ready for what’s next

Coming to the end of such a deep project feels a lot to me like finishing a good book that you’ve found yourself very involved in. There’s that initial feeling of overwhelm at what’s next. Then there’s the time to reflect on what you’ve just taken in. Then, there’s the excitement of what’s next. 

Because we’re always moving forward, friends.  

The Grace of Letting Go

Prior to embarking on a cross-Atlantic painting journey this fall, I wrote myself a letter.

It was a letter I needed to write; a letter that no one ever needed to read.

It expressed my fears, acknowledged my shame, and brought tears to my eyes both as a I wrote it, and each and every time I read it thereafter.

This trip, you see, was a lifelong dream of mine. A chance to say yes in a way I’ve never said yes before, and a way to step past the fear, shame, and guilt that has so often plagued me in my painting, in my business, and in my life.

Little did I know, this letter would change not just my outcome of the trip, but the outcome for the other ladies journeying with me.

Opening up

At our very first gathering upon arriving in Limoux, a small, picturesque city in Southern France, our leader, artist and teacher Lori Putnam, asked us a simple question:

Why are you here?

One might expect answers like, “I want to learn more about painting” or “I’ve always wanted to travel to France.” Perfectly fine reasons. But this crowd? This crowd immediately opened up.

Ladies shared the motivations behind saying yes to this trip, with many of us nodding along, happy to be on this journey with others who understood. Then came my turn. I took a deep breath, and shared that I was here on a personal journey -- a journey to break the chains of shame and guilt and let go of the weight they bore on me.

I heard a resounding “me, too” from so many ladies at the table. Uncharacteristically, I asked them if they’d like to join me a few days later, at a ceremony I’d crafted prior to arriving. The answer? Yet another yes.

Speaking your truth

The ceremony I’d designed included traveling to a special place: the Dove of Minerve, a carved stone representing the crusades of the early 1200s where many Cathar women were burned alive. I would take a lock I’d brought and lock it to the fence there, leaving my heaviness in a place where many others left theirs.

This wasn’t any old lock. It was heavy; tarnished; beautiful. It was a lock I sought out for quite some time prior to my trip -- the perfect representation of the heavy, somewhat tarnished, yet oddly beautiful experiences I was looking to leave behind.

The day of the ceremony, we arrived at the fence, I took the letter out, and I spoke it.

My words represented my journey -- they showed gratitude for the darkness; said thank you for what it has taught me along the way.

I acknowledged the hold that shame and guilt had had on me for decades, and voluntarily (and adamantly) released it.

I had never imagined reading this letter out loud. When I did, I stepped outside my body, in sudden observance of the angels surrounding me.

I was a messenger. I am a messenger. We are all messengers.

Healing together

Showing gratitude for the darkness lets me fully embrace the light. There is new and true healing in my art now that I can completely let that light in.

Artists, by nature, are healers. Yet it’s not until we let go of the darkness and experience feelings of lightness, courage, and freedom -- through our words; our painting; our gratitude -- that we can help others express themselves, too.

I left things -- intangibles -- behind in the town of Minerve that were holding me back, keeping me down. Letting go of the shame and guilt I’ve known nearly my entire existence has left me feeling lighter; ready to take flight and soar higher than ever before. And ready to help others do the same.

Letting go opens up a world of possibilities of what we can do; where we can go. We just have to be ready.

I am ready. We are all ready.

Painting Breakthroughs in the South of France: A Full-Immersion Experience with Lori Putnam

Have you ever had an experience that you look back on and say -- without even a pause -- that was life-changing?

Have you ever had an interaction where you walk away and think -- without a doubt -- that has transformed me?

Have you ever jumped on an opportunity -- perhaps with some hesitation -- then thought, I can’t believe that happened, but I’m so glad it did?

Pardon my vague introduction and the somewhat intense questioning -- but I truly believe we’ve all had all of the above -- the experiences, the conversations, and the opportunities. Fortunately, I was blessed to have them all at once, on a two-week trip to Southern France this fall.

Realizing a lifelong dream

Let’s rewind: At the beginning of 2016, an opportunity presented itself to me. It was a 10-day workshop with Lori Putnam, taking place in Limoux, France -- and it was the last one she’d be running in France in the foreseeable future.

Two weeks away from work, focused entirely on painting? This was an idea that I’d only truly allowed in my innermost dreams. I couldn’t really drop my design work for two weeks. I couldn’t really leave the iPad at home. I couldn't really spend that much money on painting.

You know where this is going: Of course I could. I quieted that inner naysayer real quick (not without a fight, of course) -- and booked the trip.

Becoming a magician

This trip was an experience, an interaction, and an opportunity that was life-changing, transformative, and incredibly gratifying in so, so many ways. I’ll be writing about the grace of letting go next month, but the first thing I have to talk about is the absolute transformation I’ve seen in my painting.

Naturally, being in one of the most beautiful places in the world for an extended period of time focused on finding niches and nooks to paint is going to be somewhat transformative when it comes to technique and skill. But doing it under the leadership of a seasoned plein air painter, Lori Putnam, and amongst a group of passionate collaborators made it even more so.

Here’s how I was able to learn and grow in my painting at a deeper level than ever before:

• Accepting + capturing the light: I grew a much deeper understanding of light and value -- and how to incorporate it into my work. I’ve never felt so able to take the light in, and to reflect it back. The difference is noticeable in my paintings from day 1 to day 10.

• Appreciating fresh eyes + unfamiliar territory: Instead of being overwhelmed by the newness of each place we were in, I learned to practice gratitude for the fresh perspectives and lack of familiarity of a space. It led me to be more in tune with its unique characteristics, from the sights to the smells to the sounds -- but most importantly, to the colors and the depths and the light.

• Eliminating all distractions: For this trip, I stepped entirely away from design -- I didn’t travel with my laptop or my iPad. Never before have I turned off work so entirely, but doing so allowed me to make the absolute most of every minute.

• Capitalizing on community. A solo painting trip would be enlightening, no doubt -- but being surrounded by 10 women who were not only there to grow as painters, but as people, was beyond inspiring. In our short time together, we formed unbreakable bonds that will have us growing together for eternity.

During one of our sessions, Lori declared us all to be magicians. The way we capture light; the way we embody a scene; the way we mix until the color is just right.

Never before have a I felt like such a sacred power -- and never before have I appreciated the magnitude of this magic we create.

Breakthroughs + gratitude

In the weeks since I’ve been back, I’ve wondered,

“What if I hadn’t said ‘yes’ to this trip?”

“What if I hadn’t given myself the gift of getting away from it all?”

“What if I hadn’t shown up -- really, truly shown up -- as myself?”

The me of 10 years ago wouldn’t have been able to ask myself these questions -- because I wouldn’t have said ‘yes.’ I wouldn’t have given myself this gift. I wouldn’t have shown up as my truest self.

Which is to say this: Slow down. You are worth the time away. You have so much to learn; to see; to do. Your art will be better for it. Your relationships will be better for it. You will be better for it.

Your turn: How are you saying ‘yes’ in your art + life?

My Version of Wild: What's Essential in My Plein Air Travels

A few years ago, I read Cheryl Strayed’s Wild. If you aren’t familiar, it’s a telling of her journey hiking the Pacific Crest Trail solo after a few major turns in her life. It shows her at her best and at her worst, but most of all? It shows her accepting the adventure and learning from every minute of it.

I’m about to set off on my own version of Wild -- two weeks of uninterrupted painting en plein air, in one of the most beautiful places in the world: Limoux, France, in the Languedoc region.

As I prepare to hit the road, I can’t help but think of the first time Cheryl set foot on the trail, with her monster backpack full of things she’d later discard as she prioritized the essentials and ditched the rest to ease her load.

As a painter, it’s easy to collect supplies within our studios. Piles of canvases; cases of brushes; palette upon palette of paint. Over the years, I’ve stocked up more supplies than I could ever use in this lifetime, picking up pointers from other artists, learning about new materials in seminars, and discovering must-haves in workshops.

Art supplies are, in general, an artist’s weakness -- mine, for sure. All is well and good when I’m set up in my studio. But when I started painting en plein air, I realized the need to only travel with the best of the best -- after all, my supplies had to be portable, light, and readily transportable into the woods, or down to the lake.

Now, as I prepare to leave for France, I have to evaluate my supplies even further. I’ll be traveling light -- with only the essentials -- and I thought it might help to share what those essentials are for me:

• My pack: a Kelty Redwing 2650. It used to be my son, Bryan’s, for a father-son hiking/fishing trip. It’s special to me as I remember him upon their return, bug bitten and hungry.

• My mini sketch pad and markers, along with this viewfinder to help create some thumbnails as I lay out my design.

• My easel: an Open Box M 11x14 that I’m in love with, with an easel umbrella to provide shade. I used to use a heavier French easel, but this one makes travel so much easier.

• My tripod: a Manfrotto that makes setup easy and never makes me worry about stability.

• My paints: Gamblin Artists Oil Colors, with a limited palette learned from Lori Putnam’s color harmony workshop -- including Cadmium Yellow, Ultramarine Blue, Napthol Red, and Titanium White. (Sometimes I add an orange, violet, and green.) I pair them all with Gamblin’s Solvent-Free Gel.

• My brushes: Lori also introduced me to Rosemary Brushes, which I continue to experiment with. I store them in a canvas brush holder I love, that took years to find.

• My brush holder: a stainless steel holder to hang on my Open Box M that connects with my brush washer.

• My tools: Pallet knives and color shapers (introduced to me by Patricia Bellarose) both help to create some special effects.

• My boards: I paint on Raymar Boards. Belgian Linen is my favorite but they are all fun! I often have to transport them when they’re still wet; for that I use Panel Paks -- so convenient, and lightweight.

• The seemingly miscellaneous items I can’t live without, that are able to be transported minimally: plastic gloves, a garbage bag, paper towels, a bungee cord, a hook to hang my brush washer on, an apron/smock, my hat, sunscreen + bug repellant, and of course: water, coffee, and at least one snack.

(I am very much looking forward to snacking on some fresh bread and cheese while painting in France!)

It might seem like a lot, but together, it’s 30 lbs. that encompasses everything I need. (And encourages me to work out so carrying it is a breeze.)

The best part? It’s actually an easy set up that I’ve practiced and zeroed in on after many years painting en plein air -- a set up that is all part of the journey. I love the feeling that washes over me as I assemble my easel and squish out my paint; the act of throwing my apron over my head and putting on my hat.

I’m able to create my perfect environment, with only the essentials within my pack -- one that helps me enjoy the surroundings I find myself in.

And one that’s perfectly suitable for a flight to France.

The best supplies are important to support the work we want to create. Focusing on the essentials means choosing the best supplies and then choosing the select few of those that are absolutely necessary to the task at hand.

France is my Pacific Northwest Trail. This trip is my Wild. I cannot wait to share the stories, the adventures, and the impending life lessons I’ll undoubtedly learn upon my return.

Artists: Put Your Soul on Display (Exhibiting Your Fine Art)

Late last month, I had the opportunity to participate in the Canandaigua Lakefront Art Show -- a festival of fine art, music, and food. 

After two rather long days of exhibiting, it’s easy to be exhausted; drained; spent. But this year, showing my work at this festival reminded me of the amazing opportunities we, as artists, have to put ourselves and our work out there. 

Throughout the two, seven-hour days, I was able to market my paintings, meet new customers, and chat with out-of-state visitors checking out the Finger Lakes for the first (or 20th) time -- people that wouldn’t necessarily walk into a gallery, visit a museum, or intentionally seek out fine art online.

All the work of setting up a booth, packing up your inventory, and figuring out payment methods becomes instantly worth it when you get to share your art with the world. It’s an amazing experience that brings a natural honor -- and it’s simply hard to describe until you get out there and do it.

But that doesn’t even touch on my favorite aspect of attending festivals and shows as a visiting artist: The organic connections that are made on a deeper level with each and every visitor that takes time to stop and observe your work.
 
As I’ve said before, art is an active piece of the room it lives in. I believe the best connections are made between a buyer and their selected painting when they’ve taken the time to physically interact with it -- and those connections are made even deeper when they can connect to the artist and the energy that surrounds them, as well.

Through many years of shows in both the Finger Lakes and the Adirondacks, here are a few tips I’ve picked up along the way for making the most of shows you attend:

• Have smaller pieces on hand: I’ve done notecards and smaller pieces; I’ve seen others do prints
• Bring a leave-behind: Give them something to remember you by when they’re at home incessantly thinking about that beautiful piece of art they wish they’d bought!
• Take Monday off to rest: While all the work is worth it, it’s important that you treat yourself nicely after the event is over. Take time to settle back into your studio or office -- and allow for time to capture all the inspiration that’s undoubtedly built up inside you 

Putting myself and my work out there has not always been easy for me. As an artist, it can feel like we’re putting our souls on display. But each and every moment I’ve spent doing that has always been worth it, and I believe it will be for you, as well.

(PS: This year, exhibiting at the Canandaigua Lakefront Art Show was an experience made even more special because I was asked by the show organizer to develop the logo and poster for the event. In the months and weeks leading up to it, I drew inspiration from the amazing Finger Lakes atmosphere. The final product -- which features an illustration of my vintage guide boat -- is a beautiful representation of everything the Finger Lakes and painting mean to me -- family, letting go, freedom, peace, and beauty.)

Let Your Life Expand Beyond One Bucket

Back in high school, I had a plan: I was going to live within the vibrant, energetic streets of New York City, painting my days away while enjoying the glory of having at least one piece on display in the MET.

Of course, that plan changed. I went to college and became a designer. Soon after, I became a wife, then a mother. In the process, I also became a homeowner -- a far cry from the street-living of my past dreams.

I shared these past dreams recently, with none other than Steve Dougherty, editor of my long-time favorite magazine, Plein Air Magazine. (A magazine that shows up every other month, filled with plein air inspiration, and makes my day each and every time.)

On painting -- and buckets

I had the chance to take a class with Steve during the Finger Lakes Plein Air Festival in Canandaigua in June, and found myself enamored with more than just what he was teaching on the easel.

As part of his workshop, Steve shared soundbites and stories from artists he’s interviewed in the past for the magazine, one of which caught my attention immediately: Andrew Wyeth, my all-time favorite artist. (Seeing his work at the MET in high school on a field trip with my teacher, Dick Trick, shaped the aforementioned city-girl dreams.)

Putting my fangirl awe aside (knowing he’s met Andrew Wyeth and visited his home on more than one occasion is incredible), I saw something I recognized: The story of a painter making his way with more than just brushes and canvases. Steve is a writer and editor, but also an amazing painter.

Sure enough, in side conversations, I was able to chat with him about the struggle most painters face: working a job to pay the bills versus painting full-time. For Steve, it’s his writing that fuels his ability to own a home and provide for his family. But, much like me, it’s painting that fuels his soul. Not only did he share that it’s something he’s balanced his whole life, but it’s one he’s talked to artists all over the country and world about.

Fortunately, we see eye-to-eye on this supposed struggle: that there’s no one way to live. And no one bucket to fit into. Even better? We both believe that having more than one discipline is a good way to live.

Because while painting may be my passion and my ultimate calling, my design work provides more than just a reliable income: it provides a steady stream of inspiration, a network of clients who stretch my creative bounds, and an introduction to new places I can take my painting when the time comes.

And, of course, spending time behind a computer screen with a WACOM tablet and my good friend Adobe gives me a finer appreciation of those moments when I’m in front of sprawling mountains, rolling waters, and peaceful clearings with nothing but my easel and paints.

The Renaissance Woman

The Renaissance Woman we all strive to be is, quite simply, a person with many talents or areas of knowledge. So why is it, then, that when we aren’t confined to one thing -- like painting --  we fail to believe ourselves to be painters?

I’ve lived far too long believing that we have only one life purpose, and that all of our actions have to fit neatly into one bucket. It’s only now that I realize that continuously filling various buckets can help shape us into exactly who we are meant to be.

PS -- Should my work ever enter the pages of the illustrious Plein Air Magazine, I’ll certainly be able to consider at least one bucket full.

The Valuable Life Lesson Learned From Being Present in Plein Air

There are many places that make me very happy in this world, but they each have one thing in common: They’re out in plein air.

That is, they include being outdoors, whether on a lake in the Adirondacks, or in the woods of a Finger Lakes trail, or walking the dirt road around my country home.

When life gets messy or my mind gets foggy, it’s the outdoors that can set me straight. And this morning was no different: As I was strolling my normal neighborhood loop with Banks, a Blue Heron flew above us -- actually not just one, but three.

I have only one word for the experience: Bizarre.

Completely intrigued and feeling certain that it was a sign, I came back to my desk to dig into what the Blue Heron is all about. Here’s what I found:

From spirit-animals.com:

“If Heron has come wading across your path: It is time to look deeper into aspects of your life that will bring out innate wisdom and show you how to become self-reliant. Are you grounding yourself regularly? Heron teaches that grounding yourself in the earth and your spiritual beliefs will help you discover emotional insights more clearly and more quickly.”

From my friend Mara Gamiel:

“Meanings + messages: ability to stand alone, uniqueness, independence, call to balance, self-esteem, boundaries, dignity, exploration, peace, fluidity.

Great Blue Heron is a majestic bird who teaches us the wisdom of standing still, waiting patiently, while what we need comes to us. Allow the dignity of Great Heron to inspire you: practice walking with assurance and deliberation, taking your time and refusing to be hurried.”

A strong symbol -- and one I find incredibly relevant. I’ve had a few falls recently in my painting journey -- and my mind was focused heavily on them. They made me doubt my ability. I spent quite a bit of time beating myself up. Yet, on the other hand, I have a beautiful new website, I’ve gotten incredible feedback on the work I’m doing, and I have the freedom to pick up my paintbrush and express my authenticity at any given moment.

Witnessing the Blue Heron reminds me that amongst all this “busy-ness,” I’ve gotten lost. I haven’t grounded myself. I’ve seeked validation from others; I’ve tried to fit in. When really, my story is unfolding one experience at a time. It’s timed into where I am at right now. And painting is my way to bring light and healing to this world, to be independent, to explore, and to find balance.

What’s scary is that on any given day, I might’ve missed those Herons altogether.

When life steps up to teach you, open your mind and accept those lessons graciously. The only way to do that is to be present.

Find the Little Miracles

Though spring officially begins in March, here in the Finger Lakes, it’s May that truly embodies all that spring is meant to be: a time of rebirth, a time of refreshment, and a time of rejuvenation.

I see it as I walk in the morning: buds opening on lilacs, leaves suddenly adorning branches that have stood bare for months, fog dissipating into blue skies. The air is cool, but the sun warms it quickly. The birds wake me up, and the sound of rain lulls me to sleep. It’s this spring that I yearn for all winter. It’s this spring that reinvigorates my spirit for months to come.

And it’s this time of year, in particular, that I’m able to find the little miracles in each and every day. As the world fills back up with color, I count my blessings as I’m able to get outside and explore a never ending palette of inspiration.

It’s flowers that most remind me how miracles can be found in the littlest of things. And it’s for this reason that I love to paint them. They make me and others around me happy. They know no limits when it comes to color, or texture, or shape. They come in the most magnificent mixtures and carry the most beautiful scents.

I find myself feeling a bit silly when I tell people that my favorite thing to paint is flowers. After all -- are they not the most basic item placed in a still life from the time we’re in school? But then I remember this: Life is all about finding the small miracles; looking deep into seemingly simple things like flowers and realizing the impossibly complex striations of color, patterns of texture, and other details that make each one different from the next.

Don’t shrug the simple off as ordinary. Remember that inspiration is everywhere. From the intricate details that adorn an old stairway banister to the perfectly drooping willow tree on your front lawn, there is so much more to be seen than meets the eye at first glance.

With spring comes new life. With new life comes new miracles to discover. Take a closer look. Find the little miracles surrounding you.

Don’t Shelve Your Creativity as a Parent

Nearly two decades ago, when my son, Bryan, was just a kid (okay, he’ll always be a “kid” to me), he did a drawing at school. It was of him and I drawing together. On it, he wrote “My mom is an artist.”

To this day, thinking about him handing me that drawing when he got home brings a tear to my eye and a stroke of pride through my heart. Because from the time my kids were little, even before I was able to firmly profess it, they knew I was an artist. They announced it, excitedly. They shared it, with pride. They believed it.

While that means the absolute world to me, what makes it even more magical is that both my children, Bryan and Emily, have found a way to work art into their own lives. While their creativity has evolved from kitchen table crafts to art museums in New York City and textile designs in California, they’ve each embraced art with open arms throughout their entire lives.

I am incredibly happy that I was able to influence their creativity. Yet what they might not know is how much they’ve influenced mine. Helping them with projects; chaperoning their art field trips; painting in our backyard -- each and every time I got to make art with them, I found a little more inspiration to keep going myself. They influenced -- and continue to influence -- my creativity as much, if not more, than I was able to influence theirs.

While painting has taken center stage in my life today more than I ever allowed it to before, I am able to say that I never completely put my art on hold. I brought it out with my kids. I made it a part of their lives, and it grew and grew as part of mine.

They knew I was an artist. Now I know I’m an artist. Don’t shelve your creativity as a parent. Make it a priority for yourself and your children. Do it as much for yourself as for them. Creativity deserves to live, no matter age nor busyness. In expressing creativity, we can all live our own truths, and the connection you can find with your children through art is unlike any other.

P.S. The world deserves your creativity.

Push Past Your Limitations

I was fortunate to be in one of the best art programs in the country when I was in high school.

I don’t say that to brag; I say that because I’m still in awe of all that I learned there, and of the true depth of the lessons that have stuck with me in the decades since.

Despite always being deeply interested in creative projects since I was little, I began painting seriously in high school. There, I was blessed to have a teacher, Dick Trick, take me under his wing, teaching me watercolor and acrylic painting. But he also taught me much more.

One day, Dick pinned a bunch of work around the room. He told us it was from his previous students. The work was good -- it was very good. We all sat in stunned silence, with an internal dialogue starting, telling us that we could be producing work just as good.

He didn’t tell us until later that it was actually work from his very recent college years -- work that had more experience behind it; more fine tuning. His point? He wanted us to know that we could draw and paint like that. He wanted us to start thinking like true creative souls, with limitless possibilities.

All it took was pushing past the limitations we had imposed upon ourselves -- those mental barriers telling us we could only paint at a certain level, or we were only so good.

Dick filled the room with still life -- stalks of corn, a horse saddle, dishes, clothes -- and let us portray them as we wanted. He taught us about famous artists, taking us to a show of Andrew Wyeth’s work in New York City. He encouraged us to enter scholastic art awards. The art studio in school was filled with life. It was filled with inspiration. It was filled with opportunity. All because one art teacher believes all students have creativity deep within them and are only limited by their own beliefs about themselves.

Not everyone has someone like Dick in their life. I am forever grateful for him. I got more out of my high school years than most art students get through college, and even through life. The realization of my own barriers and the willpower to push past them have made an incredible difference in my art, far beyond the tactical lessons in different brushstrokes and styles.

And while the lessons he taught me stretch even further, if I could share only one thing with you, it would be this: Push past what you think are your limitations. Be brave. Just beyond your comfort zone is the place where you’ll be able to connect with your true creativity.

Creativity Is a Constant Evolution

One of the most important things I do in my business and in my creative life is to pause. To put things at a standstill. And to look in the rearview mirror to see how far I’ve come.

Even the days when I feel I’ve accomplished nothing can be celebrated when looked at in tandem with the little steps that were taken over a span of days, weeks, and months. Little steps add up to giant leaps.

I look at the evolution of my creativity the same way. While I believe we are all born with creative souls yearning to be released, I also believe that the creativity we are born with needs to be nurtured, encouraged, and put to use in order to grow. And with that use, your creativity will evolve.

My painting is the perfect example for me. As my predominant creative outlet, I can see its constant growth. My work is ever-evolving. My style is growing to where it wants to go. As much as I might try to direct it, it has a life of its own. And when I let my creativity take its own path through my work, I see that it truthfully reflects who I am when creating it.

Some days that means it reflects joy. Some days it reflects healing. Some days it reflects a struggle. But it is always me.

One of my absolute favorite things to hear from people who see my work is that I have a style that makes them happy. The truth is, it makes me happy, too. But I also know that it will change. It will grow. It will continue evolving, as it’s done each and every time I’ve picked up the paintbrush, put pencil to paper, or eye to camera lens.

In a way, I’ve come so far. At the same time, I still have so far to go. Nurture your creativity. Encourage your creativity. Put it to use and let it evolve. You’ll be astonished with what you can create.

Artists: Find Your People

Each and every Wednesday night, I have the pleasure of joining a group of painters at the Pat Rini Rohrer Gallery in Canandaigua for an evening of painting. Come hell or high water (or snowstorm or stomach bug), I get myself there.

Not just because it’s an evening of doing what I love, or because I know the best way to refine my craft is by doing it more often. I make it a priority because despite loving the quiet that painting solo can bring, I know that there are certain parts of creative work that only other creatives can understand -- and surrounding myself with those creatives is crucial to my own success.

The group that I paint with on Wednesdays has become my painting family. These are people who understand the personal side to painting. They understand the “rejection” -- both the obvious external rejection all artists deal with as well as the internal rejection that keeps us stuck. They understand the incredible passion that goes into creative work, as well as the indelible hurt that can accompany it.

They struggle with the same internal monsters attempting to slay our spirit. They witness the subjectivity with which our work is often judged. They have such a deep understanding of the heart and soul that goes into painting that their empathy is unlike anyone else’s.

A creative’s work is a paradox in and of itself. While painting lifts my soul up, it also has the ability to stamp on it. The highest highs and lowest lows can be brought on in one single session. And sometimes, you just need someone who understands; someone who won’t pretend to have all the answers, but can see where you’re at and can assure you that you’re not alone. And sometimes, you need to be that person for others.

I am incredibly grateful to have found my people. Fellow artists: I encourage you to find yours. Surround yourself with people who understand. People who can lend a hand, a shoulder, or a word of advice. People who will ultimately help you deepen your creative soul and be better, all over.