A Celebration of Your Work
When my lesson went live in the One Badass Art Journal 2026, I expected color, texture and maybe a few brave compositions.
What I didn’t expect was the language.
People began sharing not just their pages, but their hesitations.
“It’s hard for me.”
“I hoped it would come out better.”
“It was a week I could not relax.”
“I really hate the way I draw.”
One woman admitted it had been decades since she finger painted. Another said she tends to use her fingers only as smudge tools, not as the primary instrument. Someone else waited days before beginning because she didn’t feel calm enough to approach the page.
This is what so many of us carry into creative work: performance, judgment, a quiet measuring stick.
The lesson itself was simple. Use your hands. Don’t overthink. Allow whatever wants to emerge.
And slowly, the language shifted.
“It was liberating.”
“I just went with the flow.”
“I felt empowered to take back my art practice.”
“I played like a three-year-old.”
“I followed my intuition.”
“It was fun just letting go and doing.”
What struck me most wasn’t the finished pages that were vibrant and layered and wildly different from one another. It was the internal shift that happened in the making. The page became less about producing something good and more about discovering something true.
What began as finger paint became something else entirely.
A tribute to a sisterhood of widows.
A portrait of women raising children with developmental disabilities.
“Together, we are never alone.”
“Where flowers bloom, so does hope.”
“Creativity is about not being afraid to fail.”
“What do I do now?”
The images held color and shape, yes. But they also held grief. Strength. Questions that had been sitting quietly beneath the surface.
This is what happens when adults are given permission to play without evaluation.
Something honest rises.
Not because the technique is complex.
Not because the outcome is polished.
But because the pressure to perform has softened.
When we remove the expectation of making something impressive, we create space to make something real.
Watching these pages emerge felt less like teaching and more like witnessing.
It is an honor to witness people return to parts of themselves that hadn’t been invited forward in a long time.
The workshop is still available if you feel called to join.
But whether you do or not, I hope you take this as evidence: the part of you that wants to play—the part that isn’t trying to get it right—is not gone.
It is just waiting for permission.
માનસી
