Trust the Wind, But Bring an Oar
What if the unknown wasn’t something to fear but something to follow? A space where possibility stretches wide, where the first mark on your canvas isn’t a risk, but an invitation
“You can’t cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.” – Rabindranath Tagore
Creativity thrives when we give ourselves permission to move. Setting aside our need for certainty is a good place to start. Our paintings don’t begin fully formed, and they’re nothing if we close ourselves off from discovery.
Each choice leads to another, revealing what we couldn’t see from the shore.
Every artist knows the moment when a painting that once followed our lead suddenly has its own ideas. A still life tilts toward chaos, a portrait defies its likeness, and that “perfect” color on your palette vanishes the second you try to recreate it.
Starting a painting is one thing, but staying with it as it veers off course is where the real challenge lives. The work sneers at our fight for control. The jig is up. It’s time to embrace the surprise, lean in and adapt.
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For me the unknown Sea wasn’t the paint, it was the process of recording it.
This doesn’t mean drifting aimlessly. The grizzled sailor works with the wind but keeps a hand on the tiller.
In painting, a solid composition, strong values, and some well-placed technique aren’t there to smother us; they’re our map. The tools that help us to navigate the unexpected.
Embrace the open water. Trade hesitation for curiosity and see where the current carries you. Worst case scenario? You end up somewhere you’ve never been with a great story to tell.
Land ho!
It’s out there, waiting.
Start rowing.


