 Sometimes you may be nervous to start a painting, or even a part of one, because you want it to be just right. I recently faced that conundrum with the river in my latest piece. Compounding my anxiety, I’m doing the piece in watercolor, and the river's reflections are visible. That means that the colors need to blend into each other, so I would need to use wet-on-wet and work quickly to get the right texture. All of this means that once I started working, I really wouldn’t have time to guess myself second. So…I told myself I couldn’t begin until I was utterly confident. Which…was a lie. I took a look at the ref photo and got a pretty good idea of what I needed, but I couldn’t wait until I was completely confident, because…that was never going to happen. This is a lesson I find myself having to learn over and over again. So, you're probably wondering what happened when I finally "went for it". Well, it turned out...okay. Watercolor is reworkable, so I could soften the edges even after the initial layers were on, which, spoiler alert, I did. 
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 Last week, I shared how narrowing your focus to just one part of a painting can bring surprising clarity. This week’s tip builds on that idea: document your work. Whether you choose to do it publicly—through social media, like I do—or privately in a sketchbook or journal, writing about your process can reveal things you might completely overlook otherwise. Just yesterday, I was drafting an Instagram caption about the progress of this painting when something clicked. While describing what I’d done so far, I suddenly realized the background steps needed more definition—specifically, additional lines and shadows. That insight didn’t come from staring at the canvas. It came from articulating the process in words.
 If you've followed me for a while, you've probably heard me say this before—but I was reminded of it again recently, and it’s worth repeating: when you’re in the final stretch of a painting and something feels off, the best thing you can do is stop looking at the whole thing. That might sound counterintuitive. After all, isn’t the goal to step back and assess the entire piece? Yes… but not yet. Sometimes, you reach a point where the painting looks finished at first glance—but you still have that nagging feeling that it’s not quite there. In those moments, trying to evaluate the whole composition can actually make things harder. It becomes overwhelming, and instead of getting clarity, you end up second-guessing yourself or even making changes you’ll regret. That’s when I find it most helpful to zoom in and focus on one small area. Take my current piece, for example. I found myself stuck, unsure what—if anything—needed to be adjusted. But instead of staring at the entire canvas and spinning my wheels, I zeroed in on one table in the scene. Suddenly, I knew what it needed: a bit more contrast here, a subtle reflection there, maybe a stronger highlight to draw the eye. That shift in focus turned confusion into clarity. Working this way is not only more productive—it’s far less stressful. You stop trying to solve a hundred tiny problems at once and instead give your full attention to one manageable section. And more often than not, improving that one part naturally enhances the whole. To make this process even more streamlined, I think it might help to follow a path—literally. As someone who reads from left to right, that's probably the direction I would choose to move in across the painting when doing my final checks. If you’re from a culture that reads right to left or top to bottom, consider following that instinctive path instead. Your eye already knows how to travel that way, so use it to your advantage. So the next time you’re unsure what your painting needs, try narrowing your focus. The answer might be waiting in just one corner of the canvas.  Update: While photographing this painting for the blog, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before—the hair on one of the seated figures looks strangely flat and unfinished. I painted it gray, which was accurate for the scene, but in the context of the colorful, light-filled environment, it doesn't quite sit right. That’s when it hit me: it's not the color that was the problem—it's the lack of depth. Everything else in the painting has light, reflection, and dimension, but the hair doesn't. By zeroing in on just that one element, I'm realizing it needs subtle reflections to carry the same life as the rest of the scene. This is exactly the kind of moment that reinforces why narrowing your focus works. When you give one area your full attention, even something as small as the treatment of hair can suddenly become clear.
 I’m planning to start an Impressionistic painting soon. It’s not a style I usually work in, but my local art group has chosen it as our theme for October—and honestly, it never hurts to stretch your boundaries. One of the first things I had to consider was the paint itself. Impressionism is all about visible brushwork and texture, so I knew I’d need something thicker than the paint I typically use. To figure out the best approach, I experimented with two options: thickening my Liquitex Basics paint with medium, or investing in some Heavy Body acrylics. While Liquithick did give my Basics paint a heavier consistency, the Heavy Body paint offered a much smoother, creamier experience overall—and a noticeable jump in pigment quality. No amount of thickening medium will give you more pigment. For a style that depends so heavily on vibrant, confident marks, that matters. So I went with the Heavy Body paints. I also made a deliberate choice to work with more opaque pigments than I typically do—like phthalo blue. Normally, I lean toward layering transparent colors, but Impressionism calls for bold, direct application, and opacities help support that. For my surface, I ordered a Blick Studio heavyweight canvas—20 oz, sturdy enough to handle thick, expressive strokes. As for the subject of the painting? I’m keeping it close to home—literally. I’ll be painting my backyard, in a quiet nod to the original Impressionists, who often painted scenes near their homes or studios. I won’t be painting it plein air, but it’s close enough. To help shift my mindset, I processed the reference photo in Canva. I boosted the brightness, contrast, and saturation, and then deliberately reduced the sharpness—blurring it just enough so I can’t see fine details like individual blades of grass. That way, I’ll be forced to focus on light and shadow rather than outlines or textures. The result will be a painting built on the interplay of shape, color, and movement rather than detail.   Sometimes, the next step in a painting doesn’t come as a grand vision. Sometimes, you can only think of one thing to do. Well—go do it. Pick up the brush. Go to the easel. Do that one thing. It might be a tiny highlight, a shadow adjustment, or just darkening one crease in the ground. That’s enough. Because once you’ve done it, you might find yourself doing the next thing. And the next. And if not? If that one thing is all you do today? That’s still progress. You’ll feel better spending five minutes painting than telling yourself, “I can only think of one thing, so I won’t bother.” That kind of thinking stalls momentum. Doing the one thing—even if it’s the only thing—keeps the painting alive. I’m working on a piece right now that’s in that exact in-between place. All the major elements are finished. It’s not technically done, but it’s no longer screaming for attention either. So most days, I sit down at the easel literally only planning to fix or adjust one thing. And more often than not, that’s enough to get me going. Here's a pic of that painting by the way.  Happy painting!
 I had been staying away from my painting for days because I felt stuck about it. Then, I decided to study the reference photo and see if I could find anything to improve my painting, and what'd ya know, I did. When that painting session was over, I knew exactly what I would do in the next one. It's easier to figure out what to do on a piece when you're actually working on it. Sometimes, it helps to walk away from a painting and look at it with fresh eyes. But, by the same token, it’s hard to know what a piece needs when you’re ignoring it, and the longer you stay away from a piece, the harder it can be to get back to it. If you’re feeling stuck on a piece, I challenge you to study your reference photo without committing to a painting. I can pretty much guarantee you’ll come up with at least one thing to do in your painting, and if you don’t, congratulations, your painting’s probably finished. Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.~Pablo Picasso
A few posts ago, I wrote about sketching to chill. Now I’d like to tell you how helpful sketching can be when planning your paintings. It lets you see how a composition will look without spending much time and effort or using suitable materials. For example, in sketching this scene from a restaurant I was at with my aunt, I realized I needed to start the ground line down lower than I was if I would fit all the palm fronds in all their glory.  It’s for this reason that I caution against getting caught up in details or exactness when you’re sketching. Your goal at this point is not to create a pristine piece. It’s to give yourself a roadmap for starting your actual project.
 Contrasting warm and cool tones can add brightness to an object. I have examples of this in the sky and bushes in this painting. ‘See how the cool bluish tones in the sky against the warmer cyan make it sparkle? You can see the same effect in the yellowish green contrasted with the dark cool green of the bushes. To achieve the richer cooler green of the bushes and blue of the sky, I mixed a touch of blue into my green for the bushes and a touch of purple into my blue for the sky. If I'd wanted a warmer blue, I would've mixed green into it.  |
