What 10 Years of Painting Has Taught Me About Talent, Practice & Starting Anyway

Every now and then, someone will look at one of my watercolor paintings and say something along the lines of:

“You’re so talented. I wish I had been born with a gift like that.”

And I always have to laugh a little.

Because if you could see some of the paintings I created when I first picked up watercolor, you might feel very differently.

I was not one of those people who picked up a paintbrush for the first time and magically created something beautiful.

Not even close.

I wasn't naturally good at watercolor when I started. I didn't instinctively understand perspective, how much water to use, how to mix the perfect color, how to create depth and shadows, or how to make a building look like it actually belonged on the paper.

I had to learn.

And then practice.

And learn some more.

And practice some more.

For years.

Looking Back at 10 Years of Painting

Recently, I looked at some of my earlier paintings alongside the work I'm creating today.

Ten years.

It's amazing what can happen in ten years.

When I look at those first paintings now, I can see all kinds of things I would do differently. My understanding of color has changed. My brushwork has changed. The way I approach composition, light, shadows, architectural details, perspective, and even the amount of white space I leave on the paper has evolved.

But I don't look at those early paintings and feel embarrassed.

I'm actually really proud of them.

Because they represent something incredibly important.

I started.

Those paintings were created by someone who didn't know what she was doing yet but wanted badly enough to learn that she was willing to be a beginner.

And I think there's something beautiful about that.

I Wasn't Born Knowing How to Paint

We tend to look at people who are good at something and only see the finished product.

We see the artist's beautiful painting.

We hear the musician's performance.

We read the author's book.

We see someone's successful business.

What we don't see are all the hours that came before it.

We don't see the terrible first attempts, the classes, the mistakes, the experiments that didn't work, the frustration, or the countless times they had to start over.

I've taken soooooooo many art classes over the years.

I've learned from professional artists whose work I admired. I've watched demonstrations. I've studied techniques. I've experimented with different papers, brushes, paints, styles, and approaches.

And I've spent thousands and thousands of hours painting.

Learning.

Practicing.

Painting again.

Learning again.

And here's the important part:

I'm still doing it.

Ten years later, I still take classes. I still study other artists. I still experiment. I still make paintings that don't turn out the way I imagined they would. I still discover new techniques and think, "Why have I never tried this before?"

There isn't really a finish line.

That's one of the things I love about art.

There is always something else to learn.

The paintings that didn't work were part of it, too.

I think we sometimes assume that progress happens because we keep doing things well.

But a lot of my growth has come from the paintings that didn't work.

I've painted things that I thought were going to be beautiful and ended up thinking, "Well...that certainly wasn't what I had in mind."

I've overworked paintings.

I've used the wrong colors.

I've struggled with perspective.

I've tried to fix something and made it worse.

And every single one of those experiences taught me something.

That's the funny thing about practice. The hours that feel unproductive while you're in them often turn out to be incredibly valuable later.

You begin developing instincts you didn't have before.

Your hands start understanding what your brain has been trying to teach them.

You begin noticing things differently.

And one day you look at something you've created and realize:

I couldn't have painted this five years ago.

That's a pretty wonderful feeling.

Don't Be Afraid of Your Beginner Work

I think one of the biggest things that keeps people from trying something creative is the fear of being bad at it.

We compare our beginning to someone else's tenth or twentieth year.

Of course our work doesn't look like theirs!

Why should it?

They're showing us the results of thousands of hours we weren't there to witness.

I wish more people gave themselves permission to be beginners.

Your first painting doesn't need to be frame-worthy.

Your first sketchbook doesn't need to be Instagram-worthy.

Your first garden doesn't need to look like it's been photographed for a magazine.

Your first attempt at anything doesn't have to prove that you're talented.

It just has to be your first attempt.

Because you can't get to painting number 500 without painting number one.

Maybe You've Been Telling Yourself It's Too Late

This is probably the part I care about most.

Maybe there's something you've always wanted to try.

Maybe it's painting.

Maybe you've always wanted to learn to play an instrument, write a book, start a garden, take pottery lessons, start a business, learn photography, travel somewhere you've always dreamed of going, or finally pursue something you've quietly carried around in your heart for years.

And somewhere along the way, you've convinced yourself:

I'm too old.

I don't have enough talent.

I should have started years ago.

I'm probably not creative enough.

What if I'm terrible at it?

Well, what if you are terrible at it?

At first.

That's allowed.

Being bad at something isn't evidence that you shouldn't do it.

Sometimes it's simply evidence that you're new.

Imagine Where You Could Be 10 Years From Now

This is something I've been thinking about as I've compared my paintings from ten years ago to my paintings today.

Ten years sounds like a long time when you're standing at the beginning of something.

But those ten years are going to pass either way.

What if you start now?

Imagine yourself one year from today.

Imagine what you could learn in five years.

Imagine looking back ten years from now at the thing you created today and realizing just how far you've come.

That's what I get to do now.

And I'm so thankful that the version of me who wasn't very good at watercolor yet didn't decide that meant she wasn't an artist.

I'm thankful she kept painting.

The Hard Is What Makes It Good

One of my favorite movie quotes comes from A League of Their Own. Tom Hanks' character, Jimmy Dugan, says:

“The hard is what makes it good.”

I love that.

Because becoming good at something is hard.

There are frustrating days. There are paintings that don't work. There are moments when progress feels painfully slow. There are times when someone else's work makes you question your own.

But then there are those moments when something clicks.

You create something that feels like you.

You look at your work and realize you're developing your own style.

Someone connects emotionally with something you've painted.

A person commissions you to paint a place that holds precious memories for their family.

Someone hangs your artwork in their home.

And suddenly all those hours of practicing, learning, failing, trying again, and refusing to quit make sense.

The hard really is what makes it good.

Consider This Your Sign

So if you've been waiting for permission to try something you've always wanted to do, consider this your sign.

Start.

Take the class.

Buy the beginner supplies.

Open the sketchbook.

Plant the garden.

Write the first page.

Pick up the instrument.

Start the business.

Make something terrible.

And then make something else.

Don't worry so much about whether you're naturally gifted at it.

Be curious.

Be teachable.

Practice.

Give yourself time.

And please don't decide you're too old.

You are not behind because you're beginning now. You're simply at the beginning.

I'm incredibly proud of the paintings I create today, but I'm also proud of the woman who created those early paintings ten years ago.

She didn't know where watercolor would take her.

She just knew she wanted to paint.

So she did.

And I'm really, really glad she kept going.

It's not easy. But goodness, it is rewarding.

Here's to starting before you feel ready—and giving yourself the chance to discover just how far you can go.