There’s a moment in every painting when the rush fades. The first strokes—bold, intuitive, full of fire—have settled into form. The composition breathes. And then comes the part I struggle with most: the waiting.
I’m not a patient painter by nature. I thrive on change, on the thrill of starting something new. I rarely spend weeks or months on a single canvas. Once the energy shifts, I want to move on, not circle back. But here’s the truth I’ve had to face: if I want to improve my painting skills, I have to slow down.
The Last Layers Make the Painting
It’s in the final layers—the delicate glazes, the subtle highlights, the quiet corrections—that a painting truly comes alive. These aren’t the dramatic gestures that catch the eye at first glance. They’re the whispers that hold it there. And they require patience. Not just technical patience, but emotional patience. The kind that asks you to sit with your work, even when your spirit wants to run.
Drying Time: A Hidden Teacher
Oil, acrylic, even mixed media—whatever your medium, there’s often a moment when you have to step away. Let it dry. Let it breathe. Let it become. And that pause? It’s maddening. I’ve learned to start a new piece while I wait, just to keep my hands moving. But the real challenge is returning. Re-entering the emotional space of a painting you’ve already left behind. That’s where growth lives.
Rejecting the Rush
In a world that celebrates speed and productivity, it’s easy to feel like lingering is a flaw. But in art, lingering is a skill. It’s the difference between a painting that’s expressive and one that’s complete. Between a good idea and a finished piece. I’m learning—slowly, stubbornly—that patience isn’t the enemy of creativity. It’s its final form.
What I’m Practicing Now
- Leaving space between sessions, even when I want to push through.
- Documenting the drying process, so I don’t forget where I left off.
- Reframing patience as part of the painting, not a delay from it.
- Letting go of perfection, but not of care.
If you’re like me—impatient, impulsive, emotionally driven—know this: your urgency is a gift. But your patience is a craft. And every time you return to a painting you thought you’d abandoned, you’re not just finishing it. You’re finishing a part of yourself.
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