I have always adored art history. I loved spending time in art museums from an unusually young age. But even so, I was never really into “art” when I was a kid. I didn’t like to get messy, and I didn’t like activities without rules, and with art being naturally a bit of both, I was deterred. The thought of messing up stopped me from trying at all.

Conversely, that’s exactly why I find myself painting in this chapter of life.
The need to put color on canvas came to me urgently. I bought some cheap supplies at the craft store and sat down for some experimentation.

It didn’t take long before my mind had spun up five different ways that I could turn this new hobby into a profit. I have continuously rejected those ideas, not only because I’m not convinced there is an audience prepared to pay for my experiments, but also because that’s not why I’m doing it.

Painting, unlike writing, feels impermanent. Whatever I put on the canvas can be easily painted over. Whatever “mistake” I make can probably somehow be turned into something else.

I need that in my life: the freedom to mess up without consequences, the time and space to make pointless art that may never see the light of day, and the reminder that not everything is so important.

So when life starts to go haywire – as it does regularly – I now pull out my art supplies and take some time to calm myself down and switch off from whatever chaos is raging in my brain.

In addition to the many other tools in my mental health toolbox, I can highly recommend Pointless Art – painting, collating, sculpting, anything – especially if you struggle with perfectionism.