Gracious Words

The Cultivating Artist is a column that seeks to encourage and empower fellow makers. The work of an artist—that reach toward something beautiful—can feel daunting, especially at the beginning. Negative thoughts threaten to steal away sparkling possibilities. I’ve learned that by dwelling on thoughts that are lovely and true, I can fight discouragement and keep moving forward one brush stroke at a time. I want to help you fight and persevere in your work too. Here, I’ll be coming alongside you with encouragement and stories from my own life, reminding you that you’re not alone.

It’s ruined is one of the most daunting thoughts that threatens creativity. It always stands in opposition to grace. I’ve heard it spoken countless times from art students and many more times in my own heart. To this day, I can’t keep that thought from assailing me now and then. But I’ve found what matters most is how I answer it.

I have a dear friend named Tiffany. We talk on the phone every week and I count her as one of the greatest gifts in my life. So last year, when her husband asked me to paint a special picture as an anniversary gift for her, I was delighted. I knew exactly what to paint. She’d been in my studio some months before and had been especially taken with a small painting of two girls sitting beneath a dogwood tree. That painting was no longer available, so I suggested I paint another similar to the first. This one was going to be larger though and the two little girls would have golden hair like Tiffany’s daughters. 

I needed to complete several paintings before I could start on Tiffany’s, but I knew I had plenty of time. I wasn’t worried at first, but by the time I began, I could feel the clock ticking. When I’d finished, I had just enough time to add a couple of layers of varnish before packing it up for the five-hour drive to hand deliver it to her. 

I grabbed my varnishing brush from the art studio sink and dipped it into the varnish just like always. But this time, as I gently brushed the varnish over the canvas, it didn’t glide over the surface as it should have. I felt resistance. The varnish caught and went on unevenly. It looked waxy. I only tried one more brush stroke and froze. I put the brush down as my face heated up the way it does when I know a painting might be ruined. The surprise anniversary gift for my dear friend Tiffany, the special gift from her husband, might be ruined.

Thanks to many years of practice, on this particular day my answer came quickly. I said it out loud so I could hear it.

“I’m about to learn something amazing,” I said. And those words immediately started working their way to my anxious heart. 

The words, I’m about to learn something amazing, hold power not simply because they’re positive but also because they’re true. Every time I’ve corrected a mistake in one of my paintings, I’ve learned something amazing. Many techniques I use on a regular basis are ones learned literally by mistake, because often wisdom comes as a result of correction. 

Where it’s ruined brings chaotic thinking, I’m about to learn something amazing brings clarity. 

As I stood looking at my painting, with the waxy smudge of varnish brushed across the smooth green grass in the foreground, my mind stayed sharp—I considered my options. I went to the sink and washed my brush thoroughly, then placed it on the counter to dry. All at once, I knew what had gone wrong. The brush I’d used to varnish my painting must have had soap on it. Dried-up soap—a kind used to soften brushes to keep them in good condition. The soap had mixed with the varnish and caused the waxy film. 

I decided there was nothing for me to do but wait—wait a couple of hours and put a new layer of varnish on the painting, hoping that after applying a few layers, the soapy smudge would no longer show. It might work, but I also knew it might not. I was surprised to find that I could calmly accept that possibility. I reminded myself that since I’d painted the picture once, I could paint it again. True, it would be late for Tiffany’s anniversary, but only by a week or so. It would be okay. With that attitude, I went upstairs to wait. 

My husband said, “How did varnishing go?” 

“Badly,” I responded. 

He and my two daughters stared at me in silence for a few seconds. After telling them what happened, my husband said, “You’re handling this a lot better than you would have a few years ago.” 

I agreed wholeheartedly. 

As it turned out, after three layers of varnish the painting looked great, Tiffany loved it, and all was well. And you know what? I learned a few amazing things. I learned that I need to make sure my brushes are not soapy before varnishing and that I should always begin varnishing in the least conspicuous part of the painting. I learned that waiting is so much more enjoyable if I’m not waiting anxiously, since I’m often not in control of the outcome. 

When I speak hopeful and truthful words to my troubled heart, I’m offering myself grace. Harsh words steal courage. Gracious words stir courage. 

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things” (Philippians 4:8).

Dear fellow makers, speak graciously to yourself.

The featured artwork, “Heavenly Day,” is courtesy of Amy Grimes and is used with her kind permission for Cultivating.

Amy Grimes

“For me, it all starts with a story. As a child, fairytales and fantastic illustrations captivated my mind and sparked my passion for beautiful artwork and writing. Although I’ve created many kinds of art over the years, my favorite works of art are those inspired by stories. All of my art originates from the stories I write. I see my “story paintings” as windows that provide just enough to start the observer down the path but leave a little mystery to ignite their imagination. Light shining out of the darkness is my favorite and most recurring theme. I believe that artwork that reflects goodness and truth can bring light into people’s lives, encouraging them and giving them hope. My inspiration comes from long walks, rambling prayers, starry skies, and dreamy fairy tales. I enjoy a quiet life with my husband and two daughters, in a house full of treasured books and bright colors. A sleek, black cat and a nervous, brown rabbit keep me company each day while I paint.” ~ Amy Grimes

www.storypaintings.net/