Beyond the Canvas: Why I Paint

This post was sparked by a small request from someone I hope I can call a friend:

"Would you be able to include a short note about why creating art is important to you? It would mean a lot to me."

How do I even begin to answer that? Art isn’t just important to me - it’s how I breathe.

Painting, for me, is not just a passion. It’s a way of being. It's a space where I meet myself without pretense or expectation. Abstract art, in particular, allows me to step outside of linear thought and into something more fluid and essential. There’s no map - just intuition, movement, and presence. I rarely know where a painting is going when I begin, but that’s the point. I learn by doing. I discover by losing myself in the process.

Through painting, I return to myself again and again. And while I might never become a renowned artist, or reach any kind of external pinnacle, that’s not what drives me. The value of this journey doesn’t lie in recognition or accolades - it lies in the path itself. This is my way of searching, growing, learning. And if that search resonates with someone else - if it encourages them to begin their own journey inward - then my work has already done more than I could ask.

A Personal Journey Into Abstract Art

Part of my year is structured and outwardly focused. I work as a cruise director and tour leader - jobs that come with detailed schedules, logistics, and responsibilities. But painting? Painting is the opposite. It’s a surrender. It’s where I let go of control and allow emotion and energy to guide me.

When I paint, I follow instinct. I build layers, allow colors to clash and harmonize, and gradually, something reveals itself. There’s a rhythm in the chaos. A pulse that says, “this is it - this is truth.”

Why I Paint

Painting gives voice to what I can’t always put into words. It’s a safe space where emotion and vulnerability meet. Each canvas becomes a mirror, reflecting both the visible and invisible layers of my life.

And yet, it’s not just personal. It’s a practice of reaching out. A conversation in color. Sometimes smooth and easy, sometimes rough and unresolved. But always honest.

Art reminds me that struggle and flow are both sacred. That each mark - deliberate or accidental - is part of the journey. Some days I fight with the canvas. Some days it sings. But either way, I always come away knowing myself a little better.

A Connection Beyond Words

One of the greatest gifts painting has given me is connection. When someone sees my work and feels something - recognition, comfort, curiosity - that’s magic. That’s where the private becomes universal.

Abstract art asks the viewer to meet it halfway. To bring their own story into the experience. And when that happens, something profound is exchanged. A quiet, wordless understanding.

I still remember the first person who bought one of my pieces. It was surreal, humbling. Something I created - a piece of my inner world - was going to live on in someone else’s space. It’s like two lives gently brushing past each other, sharing something that can't be explained but is deeply felt.

The Meaning of Creating

There are moments when I ask myself: if the world is already full of beauty, if so much has already been expressed - why add more? Why create?

And yet, the answer always returns in a quiet, steady way: because creation is a form of contribution. Not to dominate or impress, but to participate. Even if the world is already beautiful, our unique perspectives - our light, our sensitivity, our voice - can add something meaningful.

It’s not about being better or proving anything. It’s not a competition. It’s about choosing how we want to show up in the world. We can add to the weight of pain, fear, and division. Or we can choose to contribute through love, honesty, and beauty.

Whatever we create - if it comes from truth - leaves a mark. Maybe not one that’s visible to everyone, but one that exists beyond time. I believe that matters.

Closing Thoughts

So why do I paint?

I paint because it teaches me to listen. Because it reminds me that I’m not here to be perfect - I’m here to be present. I paint because it's how I pray. How I make peace with the unknown. How I remember that even the most abstract expression can carry truth, connection, and grace.

This journey - messy, intuitive, ever-evolving - isn’t just mine. It’s something shared, felt, and hopefully, a little healing.

Maybe that’s enough.

For Toby. Thank you for asking the question. Happy Birthday Liz!