(No trigger warning, but this post is about twice as long as usual. So maybe it needs a “two-cuppa” warning.)

Watercolor has taught me everything about life. Then again, I’m a sucker for a metaphor. 

When you look back through a sketchbook you have just completed, it can feel like multi-sensory time-travel. I lived those pages, grew as a person because of them.

The sketchbook I just finished was launched in May 2025. The sight in my one functional eye was distorted for weeks after the January 28^th eye surgery, and by May I was grateful / hopeful that life was finally leveling out for me. Little did I know what was ahead.

2025 continued with trips to the hospital emergency department where I discovered I have advanced heart disease. In December, I also had a series of mini-strokes that foreshadow things to come. All twelve months of 2025 brought me to my arthritic knees over and over and over again. My poor body was telling me my time here is almost up. Exhausted mentally, physically, and spiritually, I was ready to call it a day.

But as I’ve said before, quitting doesn’t really work. All it takes is a tiny glimpse of one of my favorite toys (watercolor palettes, paper, or brushes) and I get interested again.

In May, I didn’t have the clarity to start an actual painting, but these tools are my old friends, demanding nothing, so why not just hang out with them for a while? Hanging out with friends doesn’t have to be “productive,” right? Instead, I had many other options:

• Reading inspirational, beautifully illustrated watercolor books by masters
• “Practicing scales” in watercolor by:
  •  exploring new color mixes with the paint I already own
  • practicing making beautiful brush strokes with specialty brushes that baffle, frustrate, and finally delight me
• Taking gorgeous full sheets of watercolor paper (22″ x 30″) and ripping them down to 1/4 and 1/8 sheets so they will be more manageable en plein air
• Digging through old photos of my trips to England to find the perfect inspiration for my next exercise in my sketchbook or on a stretched single sheet
• Doing small 3″ x 4″ value studies in pencil to make compositional adjustments to the photo inspiration

When all that “playing with the tools” time has done its magic, I am suddenly, surprisingly, ready to spray a gentle mist of water on the watercolor palette pigments and start painting for real! I just had to sneak up on it…

So back to that newly completed sketchbook. I have just one question: Why the heck does the last page of any sketchbook make me tense up like it’s a final exam?

The last page (or in this case, 2-page spread) of this sketchbook was no different. I had a good design in mind, took the time to do a pencil value sketch, and I thought I was in for a pleasant hour or two. After years of practice, I have some reliable watercolor skills, right? I should have reasonably pleasing results every time, right? Nope.

I lost control of the timing on how wet the paper was, and how strong the pigment mix was. I know how to fix most errors, but there is one gremlin that will always ruin everything:   Impatience.

Watercolor Impatience is so obvious. It happens when you (meaning I) foolishly try to add a layer of paint on damp paper and end up lifting all the layers underneath instead. I know better, but apparently, I don’t always do better. I then tried to lift a tiny area of paint, but because I was unaware of how wet my brush was, I ended up flooding the area with a migrating puddle of trouble. 

“Geesh, I know better than that!” 

Yes, I do. But when I’m impatient, I seem to lose half my brain.

Finally, I remembered the trick that saves it every time: Step Away From The Easel. (This is best said with the deep, authoritative voice of your most demanding art teacher.)

I did that, and hours later I did something that surprised me even more. When I went back to finish the corrections, I took one look and said,

“No, I’m going to leave it as-is. It’s a good lesson just the way it stands.”

 The next day I took a last look and came SO CLOSE to changing my mind and going back in to fix everything! It was like rereading a blog post with a missing quotation mark or missing period. I’m not O.C.D., but come on, I KNOW how to fix this! I know how to fix the base of those trees on the far right. I know how to tidy up that inlet area. I know how to clarify those rocks near the shoreline. Sure, it’ll never look fresh again, but still…

Nope. Leave it.

I’m leaving it as my wabi-sabi lesson that imperfection is also beautiful, that showing my goofs makes me human. When I look at this page in the future, I will remember all those out-of-control rookie mistakes I made, and I will smile, grateful that I left it mid-completion, in a glorious state of “Oh Well.”

We do the best we can, and some days it’s hard to admit that my best is pretty unimpressive. In this tumultuous time, especially in America, it is so easy to feel like doing our best is far from good enough. That is not true, of course, because there is always a helpful task to fit every energy level, skill level, and age level. Just like in watercolor. Know thyself first, then take action with love.

• There are brave souls on the front lines of protest with no training as soldiers, but PhD’s in showing us the very best of humanity. Mahatma Gandhi is smiling.
• There are helpers assisting those who got too close to the tear gas.
• There are thoughtful citizens calling Congress, speaking with the same clear conviction we see in the Texas Buddhist monks’ Walk for Peace.
• The National Guard is handing out cocoa. I’m grateful I lived long enough to see that.
• There are people donating thousands of dollars to the right causes and programs. The rest of us donate tiny amounts of money when we can.
• Everywhere there are silent vigils, singing vigils, boycotts, and the exchange of encouraging smiles with strangers.

Here’s where to start if you’re a bit lost: check in with your own body and honor it.

There are seasons for taking in information: for reading and listening.

There are seasons for action, for calling, for writing, and for marching.

And to survive it all, there are also seasons for rest and recuperation.

We must take care of our souls, so we don’t crack open permanently.

 If you already practice meditation, it will provide the clarity we need now. If you don’t meditate, I suggest you find a way to “practice scales.” 

• Let your mind rest by playing scales on a piano, or any musical instrument.
• Let your mind rest by going for a walk in nature, away from people and words and headphones. Listen to the pine trees instead.
• Pull that grocery store receipt out of your pocket, flip it over, and fill the back with a gazillion tiny circles, then color-in half of them, randomly. Follow your brilliant gut instinct.
• Take a deep breath.
• Take another deep breath, then blow a “raspberry.” See if that triggers a little smile.

It’s your job to rescue yourself. Once you’ve done that, you can go out and rescue the world. We are all in this together, and it is an honor to be doing this beautiful tag-team work with all of you.

PS: You deserve a rose for all you are doing, so here it is. Much love.

~~~

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