I first learnt to paint when I was nine years old. My dad enrolled me in a local art class and I went along weekly. I was the only kid in the class and the teacher painted landscapes. I learnt by copying her paintings.

After a few years, she moved interstate and I stopped painting. I only knew how to copy what I saw and didn’t have the confidence to experiment and play with art. Over the years, I drew a bit here and there and tried to paint a couple of times, but I didn’t feel like a “real” artist so I never persisted.

Fast forward 35 years to 2021 and I found myself in the middle of a global pandemic in a city with one of the strictest and longest lockdowns: Melbourne, Australia.

It was a stressful time and my mental health was not at its best.

One day we had a power outage and my son suggested we paint each other’s portrait. I hadn’t picked up a brush in over 25 years but I dug out some canvasses, raided his art supplies and we painted together. I surprised myself with the result.

The next day, I painted again and that turned out better than I could hope for. For the first time, I gave myself permission to paint without any internal chatter and unlocked a long-dormant talent in the process. 

A friend’s birthday was coming up. They liked cats, so I found a cute picture and painted it onto black paper I found among some old art supplies.  I loved the feeling of acrylic on paper and the black made the painting pop.

It looked great, so I posted a photo of it online. A friend asked if I would paint a portrait of their dog. I wasn’t sure, but I got out of my head once again and just painted. The result was so true to his personality and she was thrilled. More requests came and every time I painted, I learnt a bit more. 

Some days it feels like this has come out of nowhere but really it has taken most of my life to simply give myself permission to let go.