I couldn’t paint for years. Now, my art is in a gallery.

Painting was something I experienced until I was forced to take a college art class. 

Sure, in grade school, I picked up a brush now and then, but it never was for fun and was purely to get a good grade on an assignment.

I was always told that art wasn’t important, and I believed it.

Throughout my life, I was discouraged from creativity and encouraged to embrace STEAM subjects. That was until college when I was forced to take an art class to fulfill a credit requirement.

It was my first semester, and I was taking an art history class. The last assignment was to paint a painting in the style of a famous artist. I was frustrated, so I went to the local art store and bought a canvas, a cheap pack of brushes, and a canvas with a coupon for $5.

I’d picked Georges Seurat and attempted to try pointillism to meet the course requirement. To my disappointment, after attempting to paint, I realized this style would take a significant amount of time. As minutes turned into hours and hours turned into weeks, I found myself experiencing a state of zen while poking the brush onto the canvas.

I’d fallen in love, aced the assignment and the course, and dreamed of abandoning my STEAM major for the arts. I made an appointment with my university course counselor, and an hour later, I left. My major hadn’t shifted, and I was told I was stupid for considering a career in the arts when a degree in science would guarantee me a hefty salary and solid career prospects.

I listened to the adults around me who must have been much wiser than I, yet I used my second canvas in the pack and my small palette of paints and painted again. This time I listed my art on eBay for $15 and it sold.

I immediately took that $15, bought more canvas, and painted again and again, selling my work on eBay. Then, I began getting commissions, and my side hustle as an artist was born.

After graduating with a Bachelor’s in Biology, I found myself unemployed. I had no solid career prospects and was denied for every job I’d applied to, from fast food to research positions.

So, I kept painting. At this time, I was live-streaming on Twitch, taking commissions, and selling my work on Etsy. For up to twelve hours a day, I was painting to make a living in a world that wouldn’t employ me. At this time, I wished I had majored in art, considering my guaranteed salary and endless job prospects never emerged.

But I grew weary of painting. Whenever I looked at a canvas, I saw my rent payment, a cell phone bill, and a medical debt that needed to be paid. Instead of painting with love and inspiration, I was painting to survive, and I’d begun to hate the art because when it didn’t sell, I didn’t eat. When my art didn’t sell, I’d lost my apartment. And when my art didn’t sell, I found myself gentrified out of the area I once called home.

I despised art, and it must have despised me.

Eventually, I turned my attention to writing, which became my new passion and career. I buried my canvases deep in a closet and hid my paints far away in a drawer.

For two years, I couldn’t stand looking at a canvas. It was heartbreaking because I wanted desperately to paint. Slowly, I tried, but nothing but muddy blurs and ugly lines came from my hands that once created beauty.

I forced my way through a painting and then threw it away. Once again, I neglected to try again for another two years.

But two months ago, I was desperate to capture that feeling I once had while painting — a state of pure bliss.

So I primed a canvas, stared at it, and began painting.

With every stroke, I began to fall in love again. I’d begun to forgive the pressures I’d put on my work and the struggles of life that weren’t the art’s fault. Before I knew it, I’d finished and started my newest collection, The Blooming Botanical Collection, inspired by coming to life after a period of dormancy, mirroring my return to painting.

I’d braved submitting my art to a gallery, and to my surprise, it was hung in the main gallery. Then, while scrolling through social media after the gallery’s opening night, I spotted my painting featured by a local city travel guide! And I’d felt the love once again.

This period taught me to never give up on what brings you joy. It is okay to rest and step away, but I am so happy to have embraced the love of painting once again. I hope this time we never part ways again. However, if we do, I know that somewhere down my path, I’ll be able to find my way back.