Some days, painting feels like magic. The brush glides, the colors blend just right, and suddenly, I’ve created something wonderful. But most days? Most days, my paintings are a disaster.

This morning, I envisioned deep red pansies, soft and velvety, their petals unfolding gracefully on the canvas. But what did I end up with? Lopsided, pointy things that look like they were painted by an eager kindergartener. The disappointment hit hard—not just in the painting, but in myself. I used to be better at this. I wasn’t perfect, but I have paintings hanging up at home that I’m proud of.

In an effort to make things easier, I once tried abstract painting. No rules, no expectations—just color and movement. That should have been freeing, right? Nope. I couldn’t even get that right. Instead of feeling expressive, it just felt like a mess.

So, what now? Do I pack it all up, sell my paints, brushes, and canvases, and call it quits? Maybe. But then I remember why I paint in the first place. Even when the results are frustrating, the process itself is calming. It slows my mind, lets me escape for a while, and sometimes—just sometimes—it surprises me with something beautiful.

Maybe the key isn’t perfection but persistence. Maybe I need to give myself permission to paint badly. To embrace the disasters, laugh at the lopsided flowers, and keep going anyway. Because as much as I want to throw my brushes across the room some days, I also know that the next good painting is just waiting to happen.

So, for now, I’ll keep the paints. Even if they betray me sometimes.

How about you? Is there something you can do well, but then it all goes haywire?

Eydie