What Teaching Children Taught Me About Painting

A reflection on how an artist’s style evolves over time — and the unexpected lessons about creativity I learned while teaching children to paint.

When I was teaching, I would set up an easel with fresh paper, brushes, and small cups of bright paint. The colors always looked beautiful lined up together.

I would carefully explain to the children that if they mixed all the colors together, the painting would probably turn into mud.

They would nod politely.

And then proceed to mix every single color on the palette.

Almost without fail, the painting would become one large, enthusiastic brown shape in the center of the paper.

There was also the matter of the water cup.

I would give a very thoughtful lesson about keeping the water clean. First wipe the brush on the paper towel, then rinse it gently in the water.

It was a good lesson. Very logical.

They never once followed it.

Every brush went straight into the water. Within minutes the cup looked like chocolate milk.

Then they would proudly hand me their painting and ask what I thought.

And I always told them I loved it.

Because I did.

They weren’t worried about style or outcomes. They weren’t trying to impress anyone. They were simply exploring color and enjoying the process.

Looking back, I probably should have followed my own lesson.

Because when I’m in my studio now, I still throw my brush straight into the water.

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What Changes — and What Stays the Same

Artists are often told they should find a style and stick with it. Many people wonder how an artist develops their style, but the truth is that style often changes as life and experience change.

That sounds good in theory, but it’s not really how life works.

Life changes.

People change.

And if an artist is paying attention, the work changes too.

An artist’s work becomes a quiet record of their life over time. Sometimes the shift is obvious — different colors, different movement, a different atmosphere. Other times it’s subtler. The work may still feel recognizable, but something beneath the surface has changed.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately as my own paintings have evolved.

Years ago my work was much more energetic. Lots of movement, bold colors, layers building quickly across the surface. The process often felt a little chaotic — paint moving around until the painting began to reveal itself.

These days the work feels quieter.

The colors have softened. The movement has slowed. I find myself leaving more breathing room on the canvas instead of filling every inch.

I still work intuitively, but I pay closer attention now. I listen to the painting more than I push it.

Though to be fair, you never really know when fluorescent magenta might need to come out and play.

Over time artists learn more about their materials. We begin to notice color relationships, space, balance, and restraint.

The work evolves.

But something important should always remain the same — honesty.

The instinct to explore.

The willingness to let the painting unfold rather than forcing it into something predictable.

When I look back at my earlier paintings, I see energy and movement. When I look at my work now, I see stillness and atmosphere.

Both are honest reflections of where I was at the time.

The goal isn’t to stay the same.

The goal is to stay true.

And sometimes staying true means allowing the work to change.

Many of my recent paintings reflect this quieter direction in my work.

After all, the canvas is often just a quiet reflection of the life being lived behind it.

And despite my years of teaching proper brush care… my paint water still ends up looking like chocolate milk 🙂