Hi Reader,

Yesterday I spent an hour on Zoom with the students in my Heart-Led Artist Journey course. I started a new painting using a reference photo from my trip to Mt. Baker this summer. At the end of the hour, I didn't have a finished painting, but what I did have was a solid beginning of a process of development that will continue over the next few weeks, and maybe months.

My first version shows me what I don't know.

It's always humbling to start something new. That first walk through a new reference photo rarely results in a painting that feels complete. Even when I've sketched out value studies, planned how to prioritize different elements in the scene, and even when I feel like I know what I want to achieve, I inevitably encounter blind spots, take wrong turns, or hesitate rather than painting with confidence.

Short of painting the same subject in the same way every single time, there's no way to hop the fence and find a shortcut through this process.

I'm not a fan of uncertainty. That's one of the factors that causes me to play it safe when I start a painting. The lure of getting it right the first time trumps the thrill of adventure and the possibility of discovery. And this could get me down; the girl who loves safety once again playing it safe. Maybe art is better for those who are naturally bold, defiant, risk takers.

But art never asked me to get it right the first time. Art has never asked me to be anything other than who I am, and it has never offered me less than what I need.

If I'm a timid person who needs to get oriented and feel safe before I can freely express myself, there's a process for that. If I'm goal-oriented and build my life around what I can contribute, art can become a space where I can lay those burdens down. I get to make a process that works for me and serves to expand my possibilities, rather than limit them.

Which brings me back to that unfinished painting.

It's tempting to rush to the finish line. To tighten up the the details, build layers to cover hesitant strokes, resolve the uncertainties, and make something I can call done. We want the satisfaction of a finished painting, the evidence that our time and effort have amounted to something.

But what if the first version isn't supposed to be the finish line?

What if it's a conversation with the subject? A way of discovering what draws us in, revealing what we understand, and unveiling what we still need to explore?

My first version gives me information. As I refer to my reference image and build shape, colour, contrast, I also notice what my decisions produce. I can see where the values need strengthening, where the composition feels uncertain, and where I've been too cautious. I can notice what surprises me, too; the unexpected colours, the marks I didn't plan, the places where the painting begins to take on a life of its own.

Now I have something to build on. I can make decisions based on what I've learned rather than what I imagined before I began.

The first version isn't a failed attempt at the finished painting. It's the beginning of understanding what the painting wants to become.

This is one of the reasons I love working in versions. Each painting becomes an opportunity to learn, not a test of whether I can get it right. I can approach the next version with greater awareness, more intention, and perhaps a little more courage.

And I don't have to become a different person to do that. I don't have to stop being cautious or learn to love uncertainty. I only have to be willing to stay with the process long enough to discover what comes next, to create an environment where every painting offers up a gift to help me grow and paint more mindfully.

So if you're rushing to the finish line with a painting of your own, I invite you to pause.

Look at what your painting is already teaching you. Notice what's working. Get curious about what isn't and how you might respond to that in the next version. You don't have to solve everything today, and you don't have to turn every painting into a success story. There are so many ways to paint your subject, and each one is a combination of your intention and the magic of the unexpected beauty of your medium.

You just have to begin where you are.

Your first version's job isn't to prove what you can do. It only needs to show you what you can discover.

Happy painting,

Angela

P.S. This is the kind of work we make space for inside the Heart-Led Artist Journey — not just learning new techniques, but developing a relationship with our own creative process. It's a place to experiment, reflect, and discover what becomes possible when we stop asking every painting to be the finished product and start letting it teach us something. In the archives you'll find lessons to help you develop your paintings from reference photo to value study, from representational to abstract in an environment of openness and discovery, with new lessons added every month. Join here.​