Art has always been a quiet constant in my life — something I return to when I need stillness, reflection, or simply a moment to breathe.
I started as a doodler in my teenage years, filling notebooks with absent-minded sketches and patterns. In my 20s and early 30s, that casual creativity grew into painting — a more intentional, expressive practice that allowed me to explore color, mood, and landscape. Over time, my focus shifted toward miniatures, which captured my attention with their detail and storytelling. Still, painting has never really left me.
These days, time feels more limited, and I don’t get to paint as often as I’d like. But when I do, I’m reminded why I keep coming back to it. The process itself is deeply calming — the slow building of layers, the gentle movement of the brush, the way your mind softens as you focus on something simple and tactile. It’s less about the finished piece and more about the quiet space it creates.
Recently, I’ve been exploring gouache, and it has quickly become a favorite medium. It sits beautifully between watercolor and acrylics — offering the softness and blendability of watercolor with the opacity and vibrancy of acrylic. It’s forgiving, easy to clean up, and wonderfully rich in color, which makes it especially satisfying to work with.
That said, gouache hasn’t come without its challenges. Because I sometimes go three or four weeks between painting sessions, I discovered (the hard way) that my jelly gouache paints had developed mold. It was a frustrating moment, but also an oddly grounding one.
Cleaning them became its own kind of ritual.
Using an online tutorial, along with rubbing alcohol and distilled water, I carefully restored each color. It was a slow process — a bit tedious at times — but also surprisingly soothing. There’s something meditative about restoring materials, about taking the time to care for the tools that support your creativity. In the end, the paints looked almost as good as new, though it did remind me that I’ll need to adjust how I store and maintain them going forward.
When I do sit down to paint, I’m most drawn to landscapes. There’s something deeply comforting about capturing natural scenes — forests, fields, quiet horizons. Maybe it ties back to my love of nature and photography, or maybe it’s simply that landscapes offer a sense of space and calm that mirrors what I’m seeking in the moment.
Art, for me, isn’t about perfection or productivity. It’s about presence. It’s about finding small pockets of peace in a busy life, and allowing yourself the freedom to create without pressure.
Even if it’s only once every few weeks, that time matters.
And I’m always grateful when I find my way back to the brush.
