Fearlessness and Painting

One day, while chatting with friends, the topic came up: why do so many people say they like painting, yet never actually paint? Usually, they blame it on reasons like not having a teacher, not having the right environment, or not being able to persist. This reminded me of my childhood love for painting—a time when no one encouraged me and no one criticized me either. Painting was a pure enjoyment back then, free from worrying about whether others would like it.

Nowadays, art studios are everywhere. Learning how to paint has become very accessible, and the people you meet come from all walks of life—young, middle-aged, and old alike. Among those who come to paint, some do so with reverence, following rules carefully; some charge forward recklessly, fearless like warriors; and some come with a dismissive attitude, thinking painting is nothing more than casual scribbling.

There’s a saying that goes: When you don’t know how to paint, you think painting is easy. Once you understand a little, you realize how difficult it actually is.

To those who don’t paint, this sounds completely backwards—shouldn’t painting become easier the more you do it? In reality, it’s because people gradually raise their standards for themselves, and the deeper they go, the more they become aware of how small they are.

The Fearless Ones

Once, a woman asked me to modify a portrait she had painted. It was a painting of her close friend and her husband, yet it bore no resemblance whatsoever to the people in the photograph. Knowing it couldn’t be delivered as it was, she asked me to fix it—and requested that I adjust the skin tone and light and shadow within one or two hours. The canvas was over one meter tall. Completing such changes in one or two hours was an impossible task.

Through our conversation, I learned that she had never painted portraits before. The paints she provided were pre-mixed skin-tone tubes. She didn’t know how to mix colors, didn’t know how to observe, yet she pushed through with sheer determination. I even felt she underestimated painting—but at the same time, I genuinely admired her fearlessness. After all, even if a painting goes wrong, it can often be salvaged. That’s still better than never daring to try.

Aspiration and wanting to try is one of the most important keys to painting. I’ve seen many people who love painting but hesitate endlessly before making the first mark. They place the painting in front of them, afraid to touch it, overthinking every move, terrified of making mistakes. What they want is certainty—like solving a math problem with a precise answer. Otherwise, they would rather not paint at all.

Some left-handed students even ask me whether painting with the left hand requires special techniques, whether their strokes would be different from others. They believe there must be an absolute answer, and if they can’t get one, they assume the teacher is withholding secrets. Ultimately, they want a formula that will unlock the mystery of painting.

Naïve fearlessness can be amusing; stubborn fear, on the other hand, leaves one speechless.

Painting Fearlessly

When “fearlessness” is applied to painting, it doesn’t mean “being afraid of nothing.” It means painting even when you’re afraid. That fear often comes from one’s ego—wanting something, yet being afraid it won’t turn out as expected.

Fearlessness is the willingness to try, to innovate. Even when the next stroke lies outside your imagination, even when the painting might turn out “bad,” don’t stay forever in the comfort zone. Many times, obsessively refining details just to feel safe is actually a form of timidity. Allowing temporary insecurity and imperfection—that, in itself, is fearlessness.

Painters go through different stages. Before painting becomes a way to express thoughts or emotions, it is often simply about enjoying the moment. Being able to reveal your true self through painting—exposing your personality, emotions, childhood, wounds, desires, or even expressing them through uncontrolled imagery—is also a form of fearlessness.

Turning “Failure” into Creative Material

If you can paint fearlessly, you must accept that not every painting will succeed.

Learn to accept the parts you don’t like, without dwelling on them for too long. Understand that they are marks of growth and part of the necessary path. Spending one or two years reworking a single painting is not unusual—but it may cause you to miss opportunities for insight and learning. Give yourself permission to fail. Even when you know things might go wrong, see what happens and what new ideas might emerge. Isn’t that one of the joys of painting? Many powerful works are born precisely from moments that feel “not quite right.”

The Courage to Not Please

I’ve found that portrait painting makes it especially difficult to stop pleasing others. It’s not about beautifying the subject, but once a certain level of likeness is achieved, you become afraid to take risks—for fear of ruining it. I’m most relaxed when painting myself or doing regular practice, because I don’t need to answer to anyone about the outcome. I don’t need to make someone look prettier, nor do I need to erase every “odd” feature.

In those moments, I’m more willing to trust my intuition and instant observation, choosing not to overthink. Paradoxically, that’s when I understand most clearly that painting doesn’t need to please anyone in order to satisfy myself.

There Is Always Something Greater Ahead

Painting is full of endless principles and ideas. There is no absolute right or wrong, and nothing that must be obeyed. Letting go of the ego and approaching painting with reverence is not about worshipping art—it’s about being more willing to observe, less eager to judge, and not assuming one’s own greatness.

Painting is not done by the hand alone; it is done by the eyes that see and the heart that feels. Fearlessness is the willingness to take a small risk, to accept small losses. Even if you don’t know where the final destination is, you continue painting—and continue enjoying the scenery along the way.