Why I Paint (And Why It’s Never About the Clock)

"Snowy Birches"

People ask me all the time: How long did that painting take?

And honestly? I don’t know. I never know. I don’t set timers or count the hours. I just paint until I feel done—or until I get hungry, then I leave the studio and eat something.

I used to create purely for the pride of finishing, for that I did that?! moment, which I still love--let's be honest. Every completed piece fills me with a deep sense of accomplishment. But over the years, I’ve learned to love the process just as much as the final product.

Time disappears when I paint. The world outside fades, and I step fully into the scene. I don’t just see the colors or the texture—I feel them. I imagine the air, the scent of the landscape, the distant sounds in the background. What does the sun feel like on my skin? Is there a breeze? What would I hear if I were standing inside this moment?

When I paint like this, I’m creating a space to be present.

And that practice doesn’t stop in the studio. Whenever I feel anxious, I lean into my senses to bring myself back. What can I hear, smell, or feel right now? The same way I lose myself in a painting, I can lose myself in the world around me—if I choose to slow down and notice.

Painting has taught me that presence is a practice. And like any practice, it gets easier the more you do it.

What’s something that helps you slow down and feel more present?