Why I Paint Slow in a Fast World
We live in a culture that applauds speed—faster responses, faster results, faster everything.
But in my studio? Slow is the point. Slow is my rebellion.
Doing it All…and Missing it All
When I started painting, I made a conscious decision: this would be the one place in my life that didn't ask me to rush. When my kids were younger and I was a single mom working full-time, life felt like a checklist on repeat. I was doing everything—school drop-offs, bedtime stories, doctor appointments—but I was missing it at the same time. I can’t tell you how many “muffins with mom” breakfasts or fundraising races I missed because of work. I was present, but not in the moment.
So when I found painting, I wanted it to be different. Slow. Grounded. A place where I got to breathe.
By then, I had remarried. I finally had a partner to share parenting with, my kids were a little older, and I had stepped back from the frantic pace of full-time anesthesia work. I was ready to create something that didn’t exist to check a box.
Medicine Worships Outcomes, Art Worships Moments
Ironically, my career as a nurse anesthetist is rooted in speed. In healthcare, efficiency is rewarded with… more work. And outcomes? They’re everything—and for good reason. But in art? Perfection is actually the thing that gets in the way.
Painting taught me that the process is where the magic happens. That slowing down to mix the exact hue I want is not wasted time—it’s presence. Lingering on a brushstroke is not inefficiency—it’s intention. Sometimes the most productive thing I do in my studio is step back, sit down, and just look.
I’ve learned there’s so much value in holding still. In taking one deep breath. In letting go of the pressure to create something “perfect”—because honestly? Perfect is sterile. Perfect doesn’t feel anything.
Perfection? Hard Pass. Presence? Yes, Please.
My collectors often tell me that my paintings feel joyful—that they can sense how much fun I had while creating them. And that’s because I'm not racing toward an outcome. I’m staying inside the moment.
And this is exactly what I teach in my classes.
I don’t want my students to paint like me—I want them to paint like them, without pressure, without rushing, without bracing for the “messy middle” that’s actually where the best learning happens. We work on fundamentals, building layers, trusting the process, and making space for mistakes (because mistakes are proof of trying).
A single workshop won’t instantly shift someone into this mindset—it took me years. But my hope is that students walk away knowing two things:
✨ Perfect is unachievable and unnecessary.
✨ It often takes more than one try to make something you actually enjoy.
Painting slow in a fast world isn’t resistance—it’s repair. It’s how I’ve learned to savor life instead of speed through it. And every time I pick up a brush, I remind myself: This isn’t something to finish. It’s something to feel.
If this style of learning is your thing, click here for my upcoming classes: https://triartsproject.org/classes/
