Janet’s Journal: One Stroke at a Time

By Opinion Editor Janet Guan 

Dip your brush in the blues. Add a hint of green. The color is the ocean, but not quite. I leaned away from my easel, the end of my brush at my chin. Holding my breath, I reached for the dollop of bright orange on my palette and ran my brush across the canvas.

A breath of relief. 

There. That’s the ocean.

All my life, I’ve been terrified of taking risks. In third grade, I rode my bike with training wheels and slept with my bedroom door ajar at night. In middle school, I was the classic perfectionist, obsessed with everything from the way I tied my shoes to the way I wrote my a’s.

For some time, I approached art with the same caution. Every portrait had to be proportional. Every oil painting had to conform to my references. With art, I could craft a whole new world completely at my command.

After the pandemic struck — pausing my art lessons for two years — I reentered the art studio with the intent of regaining that sense of control. My plan, however, was thwarted by our first unit: impressionist acrylic painting. On the first day, my teacher flipped through a booklet of demos. Up close, the paintings were a discordant mess of clumsy strokes and colors. Yet when I stepped back, they transformed into vibrant coastlines: dirty greens melted into emerald tides and dashes of brown branched into soft foliage. 

When we began our first paintings, I clung onto my reference. Scrutinizing every wave, rock, and cloud, I constructed careful layer-by-layer plans and replicated each detail with painstaking deliberation. After an hour of work, I stepped back — and groaned at what lied before me: an artificial disaster.

The next week, I vowed to try something different. I abandoned my plans, mixing clashing colors, dotting striking yellows and reds, and streaking bolder strokes. Surrendering to my own artistic whims was a catharsis; with every impulsive choice, my art came alive, and so did I.

That afternoon, I learned to let go, and the risks I’ve taken since have continued to be revolutionary. I’ve embraced imperfection. I’ve strayed from predictability. Most of all, I’ve accepted that not every stroke or choice has to count. 

In high school, life seems to constantly revolve around the short-term. At school, every single grade seems to dictate the future. On social media, every reel, post, and interaction demands limited attention. In the news, every story carries finality, tearing at the fabric of the world. Our generation is constantly swamped with uncertainty, and with every choice, we cling to the familiar as an illusion of safety.

We’ve created a culture of constant worry, a futile fixation with things we cannot control. Yet life is far from smooth sailing: not everything goes to plan, and it’s impossible to account for every inconsistency. 

Instead, we can face the world step by step, stroke by stroke — taking risks and trusting ourselves. We’ll make mistakes; no artist succeeds without making any. But that’s how the best paintings are formed.