From Jack of All Trades...

I have always worn “jack of all trades” like a badge of honor. I owe that to my mom, really. The one lesson that she was crystal clear about was:

“You can be anything you want to be”.

She often mixed her messages, though, since another lesson she attempted to impart was “marry rich,” but I ignored that one. 🤣

Last week, I shared my recent revelation that I’ve always been an artist. I listed off dozens of artistic outlets and creative hobbies I’ve tried over the years—calligraphy, woodworking, leatherworking, sewing, music, and more.

And now, I have a confession to make.

I gave up on all of them when they got too hard.

I’m a dabbler. I love the early stages of learning. The quick wins. The dopamine hits that come from sudden progress.

But when I reach a learning plateau, my growth stalls, and I lose interest.
Every time.

A learning plateau is a well-documented stage during the process of learning a new skill or subject where the leaner experiences a slowdown or stagnation in their progress, despite continued effort. It’s a natural part of the learning curve, experienced by everyone.

But it’s also a place where most people quit.
And by “people” I mean ME.

It was always so easy to to chase the next new thing. I'd pick up a new hobby and learn the easy skills that bring the brain-drugs.
Ahhhh.. dopamine.

But one day something shifted.

I realized how much I love learning about art!

I was spending hours pouring over art books, binging Skillshare classes and I’m pretty sure I’ve reached the end of youtube’s available art content.

I’ve watched thousands of hours of “paint drying”, and I’ve loved every second.

As an art hobbiest, this is absolutely a wonderful thing to do. A hobby should be about enjoying yourself.

So I have spent years just enjoying myself with art, learning what I felt like learning, meandering around, buying and trying different mediums and dabbling with styles.

And I was only maybe spending 10% of my time on actively making art. That’s being generous.

Loving learning about art isn’t the same as being an artist.

"Learning more is a smart person's favorite way to procrastinate" ~Mark Manson

Then, on a cross country flight in September 2021, I was journaling somewhere over Topeka and I asked myself this powerful question.

"If I want to be a professional artist, how will I approach art differently?"

The answer was instant an undeniable:
I’d stop dabbling. I’d start studying. And I’d make a lot more art.

I realized that I couldn’t continue making art on a project basis, that I’d have to go back to basics and learn the skills.

All of the artistic endeavors that I’ve had over the years had been project-based. I didn’t learn the piano, I learned to play the songs I wanted to play. I didn’t learn how to sew, I learned how to make the dress I wanted to wear.

And I hadn’t learned how to draw or paint either- I learned how to make the paintings that I wanted in my home.

And I knew that had to change.

It was time to learn the basics, learn the skills, and incorporate actual study into my art, rather than simply play.

From that moment a new intention was born:
I would build a daily art practice.

That decision echoed a parable I’d heard in almost every art book and YouTube video:

A pottery teacher divides a class into two groups: one focused on producing the highest quantity of pots, and the other on producing the single best pot. In the end, the quantity-focused group also ends up with the best overall quality pots because they got in more reps, failed more, and learned faster.

I decided to put myself in the “more pots” group. I needed more reps in my sketchbook. More mileage on my brushes.

So I put down my journal and picked up a new sketchbook I’d packed for the trip.
And just like that my practice was born.

That year I made 20 paintings.

I began thinking about ways to keep building momentum. I had heard many artists talk about challenges where they would draw 100 things (heads, hands, etc), so I made my own version. 100 ducks. 🦆

I filled an entire sketchbooks with ducks. I called Too Many Ducks: A Love Story, and gave it to my husband, an Oregon Ducks fan, for Christmas. You can see a video tour of that sketchbook here.

In 2022 I didn’t hit daily art, but I made 165 pieces. Nearly half the year.

On January 1 2023 I renewed that promise to myself, and recommitted to:

Art. Every. Day.

I launched what I now call Morii Months, my tiny daily painting practice that has become a lifelong companion. Each Morii piece is just a 1-inch square, but each one holds a memory, a moment, or a feeling from that day. Here’s what that first month looked like.

That year, I created well over 365 works of art. Probably over 500, honestly. Some days, those tiny paintings led to longer sessions. Other days, they were the only thing I made.

But they were always enough.

Because that practice changed everything.

Now, I move through the world with my artist lens on. I look for beauty, and stories, and memories that I want to capture from everyday life.

Then I go through a process of artistic decision making figuring out the best way to capture a thought or experience in a single image. I use my artist lens to locate beauty in the mundane.

That mindset… the habit of noticing, creating and reflection… is what finally turned me into an artist.

I still consider myself a student (and probably will be for life). If this were art school, I’d say I’m in the 3rd grade.

Sure, I probably create better art than most 3rd graders… but that mindset keeps me humble and curious, which is an excellent way to approach learning.

I believe in the power of a beginner’s mind.

When I first started down this path, I thought maybe art could be a little retirement side hustle—something to help me “retire” from the company I’ve helped build with a dear friend.

But, like many dreams worth chasing…

The goalposts moved.

(That’s a story for another day.)

For now, I’m just grateful I kept going past the plateau.

I stopped dabbling in art, and I started becoming an artist.