Where is the beauty in imperfection?

When was the last time you saw a figure not as a body but as an expression of emotion living in form?

“The artist must train not only his eye but also his soul.” – Wassily Kandinsky

Figure painting is more than anatomy; it’s about breathing in and then breathing out. Life through posture, color, light, and shadow. As artists, we can often find ourselves stuck muddling with proportions, but the real magic happens when we allow ourselves to paint not just what we can see but what is being felt.

Think of the works of Egon Schiele. His figures: raw, distorted, and imperfect—were alive with emotion. He didn’t merely paint bodies; he was painting in response to our human condition. Every line, every color spoke of vulnerability, strength, and the beauty of imperfection. Can we approach our own figure paintings in this way? Can we get out of the way and allow the figure to tell its own story through our brushstrokes?

8paint Inspiration Friday Where is the beauty in imperfection?

For Egon Schiele, the anatomy became a wordless story.

 

There’s a certain vulnerability in painting the figure. You’re not just drawing a person; you’re capturing their presence. It’s a dance between technique and intuition, between control and letting go. What if we let the figure and the paint itself guide us? What if we set aside perfection and instead, paint what feels true for us in that moment?

The next time you sit down (or stand, or lie on the floor) to paint the figure, let go of the idea of getting it “right.” Focus on the rhythm, the emotion, the story behind the pose. Capture not just what you see, but what you’re feeling, maybe even what you imagine your model to be feeling. Allow the figure to become more than just a body—create the space you need to have an experience. Create a painting.

8paint Inspiration Fridays - Figure Paintings by Gabriel Mark Lipper

How can you express emotion through the human form?

What story is the figure telling in your work? Have you tried telling that story?

Where is the beauty in imperfection?

Can mistakes make the work better?

Sometimes, the hardest part of creating isn’t finding the inspiration to begin, but returning to the canvas after we’ve walked away.

“The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity.” – Amelia Earhart

We all face moments when doubt’s voice is louder than our own. You’re returning to the easel after a long hiatus, a failed painting, or a heavy lunch, and you’re just not sure if you’re up to the challenge of jumping back into the fray.

Don’t let inaction lie to you. It might tell you that you don’t have what it takes to pull yourself out of this tailspin, but the energy to create is waiting for you in the work itself.

As long as we allow ourselves to be ensnared in purgatory’s parlor, we’re already beat. Our retort to doubt will be delivered to us on the canvas. That muddy disaster we abandoned is the underpainting for our masterpiece.

8paint Inspiration Fridays - Can mistakes make the work better?

Jumping back in to some still life’s without all of the answers.

 

There’s no need to paint out what we’ve done, Let some of that learning come through, build on it and create something new. The lessons we learn from ‘mistakes’ can often become the very elements that shape our new work and infuse it with excitement and vitality. Transform “Why is that there?” into “How did you do that?”

Instead of fumbling with “what if’s” turn them into paint and create some new opportunities for discovery. (paint can be anything by the way, anything that you use to move forward) The journey is about discernment — about knowing that each time we revisit our work, we’re inching closer to a version that feels true for us. Some things may need to go and others will be added, but the act of continuing to learn is what moves our art forward.

How do you approach your work after stepping away?

Have you reworked an old painting?

What did it teach you?

Does art’s value need validation?

There are days when we can catch ourselves questioning the value of our art. We wonder if it’s worth the time, the energy, or the passion we’ve poured into it.

“Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.” – Rumi

Still, what if the very act of questioning what it’s all about, is a huge part of the process? When we own the uncertainty, we crack ourselves open. Instead of aligning our insecurities with part of our world that doesn’t think art is worth the supplies it’s made from, try going deeper.

Art, in its purest form, is an extension of the soul. It’s not about perfection or market value; it’s about expression, connection, and passion. When you create, you’re not just making something to be admired—you’re communicating in a language that transcends words. A lot of times for me, that meant that I didn’t have the words to describe what I was feeling anyway. And that’s saying a lot.

Our refusal to quit shifts the focus from resistance to wonder. Peeling back our doubt reveals new sparkling possibilities. Our art’s value isn’t established when we finally hang it on the wall (in fact, more than half the time my art doesn’t make it to the wall); it’s in the journey we take. How far are we willing to go?

Inspiration Friday - Does art’s value need validation?

The artist trusting the process in the studio.

 

We’re probably not going to find our voice or the value of our creativity, if we continue to compare our time and our output to the loudspeaker that is Amazon Prime, TikTok, or a well-meaning spouse. When we let go of the need for external validation, and begin to pay attention to the soft whispers of the process, we’re reminded that the laundry can wait and that a second day in the same jeans is better for the earth.

If you ever find yourself doubting the worth of your art, take a step back and reconnect with why you started in the first place. Remember that the “strange pull” Rumi speaks of isn’t leading you astray; it’s guiding you toward a deeper understanding of yourself and your place in the world. Embrace it. Trust it. Your art doesn’t need to meet any prescribed standards to be valuable. Create. Its worth is inherent because your art is a vital part of your being. And that, in itself, is enough.

What pulls you past doubt and toward your art?

How do you embrace creative uncertainty?

Does art’s value need validation?