Emotion, Energy, and the Art of Doing Hard Things.
When the Waves Paint Back: Emotion, Energy, and the Art of Doing Hard Things.
By Studio Teagan
Intro: The Waves I Was Scared to Paint
I didn’t choose waves. Waves chose me—first as a challenge, then as a mirror. When they were assigned to me as a subject, I resisted. I thought I wasn’t ready. They felt too complex, too wild, too alive for me to possibly capture. I tried to paint anything else. But waves waited, patient and unrelenting.
Eventually, I gave in.
This was the day I finished the first wave, in my mentor’s studio in Florida. 2016
I’ve painted this way since high school. One of my most influential art teachers taught me a rule I still live by: only paint what you love or what you hate—never settle for something that doesn’t resonate. That permission cracked something open in me. It gave me the courage to be honest with my work, to let my art reflect what I was really going through—even when it hurt. Even when I didn’t understand it yet.
What started as technical practice quickly became something else entirely: emotional excavation. Through painting these waves, I learned how I could process grief, loneliness, trauma. I painted through heartbreak. Through the weight of the COVID-19 pandemic. Through fear and numbness and the slow return of joy. The sea, for all its power and unpredictability, gave me a place to pour everything I didn’t have words for. The wave below, Hanalei Bay, I painted from 2020-2022. It celebrates falling in love with my husband, our adventures in Hawaii, and the chaos and uncertainty of the pandemic.
The Truth About Painting Hard Things
Painting what’s difficult—technically and emotionally—is an act of courage. It forces you to sit still with discomfort, to shape chaos into form, and to show up even when you don’t feel ready. But here's the secret: you're never really ready. That’s the point.
Waves are my reminder of that. They don’t wait for permission. They build and crash and rise anyway. They show up honestly, without apology.
Sometimes, the painting doesn’t reveal itself until you’ve fought with it. Or surrendered to it. Or both. That back-and-forth, that resistance—it’s where the transformation happens.
Brushes, Color, and Movement: The Technical Tools of Emotional Work
Let’s get into how I approach painting waves—not just to replicate the ocean, but to embody it:
1. Gesture First. Unless you don’t.
Before thinking about color or detail, I sketch the motion. Not a perfect wave, but the energy of it. A rise, a collapse, a surge. This early gestural work lays the emotional groundwork. Let your hand move freely. Let the wave take form through motion, not control. Sometimes I sketch for hours and none of those sketches even match the final work - let it go. Everything you have done is preparation for where you will go next.
2. Paint Bigger Than Feels Safe
If you’re used to 8x10s, try 16x20’s. If you’ve been spending awhile with a 20x30, try a 36x48. Bigger canvases invite bigger movement with the body and help break mental blocks. What are you so worried about? You can always paint over it. (Or burn it!) Staying small too long squashes your amateur spirit and makes you too precious with your materials and work. When you scale up, you step into the energy of the subject—and it spills into you.
3. Build Layers Intuitively
Use impasto where you want to invite rich textures and the 3-D effect that draws people into the canvas itself. Glaze where light sings beneath the surface. Let your layering reflect your own healing timeline. I’ve glazed some of my ocean paintings over two years—not because I couldn’t finish them sooner, but because I needed time to layer as much as they asked. Every layer is part of the work.
4. Color as Emotion
Ocean water isn’t just blue—it’s deep, midnight blue, heartbreak blue, dreamer’s teal, sunrise lavender… Let your palette come from memory and mood as much as observation. Ask yourself: what does this moment feel like? Then invite that feeling to the palette and your sense of color theory - mix from there. Include every color in 3-5 areas of the artwork.
5. Fat Over Lean, Always
A technical note—respect the chemistry of oil painting. Your first layers should be lean (more solvent, less oil), and your later ones fat (more oil, less solvent). This keeps your painting structurally sound, and it mirrors emotional layering. Build toward strength.
When the Work Resists You, Lean In
There will be a painting you don’t want to touch. It’ll sit half-finished in the corner, whispering all your insecurities back at you. That’s the one you need to return to. Not because it’s broken—but because it’s where the breakthrough is. As I am writing this, I can think of 3 such canvases in my studio. No, wait, 4. Portraits and I are in it for the long haul of struggle & strive.
Every artist I know has at least one of these. Probably more!
They’re the ones that hold the truth. The ones that, when you finally face them, become the most important work you’ll ever make.
“The magic you seek is in the work you’re avoiding” — Chris Williamson
Eternal Surge spent nearly three years in its ugly phase before I figured out what it was asking for.
Facing those works—like facing those parts of ourselves—isn’t just healing. It’s transformational.
Your Action Plan: Painting the Hard Stuff
Choose a subject that stirs something in you! Waves. A loved one. A memory. Something unresolved.
Sketch with freedom. Don’t overthink. Let the first few marks be pure motion.
Go bigger than you want to. This is how we get stronger.
Commit to 3 sessions. Not to finish it, necessarily, but to meet the artwork fully.
Reflect after each session. Not just on the art—but on what it brought up in you.
Leave space to return later. It’s important to take breaks between sessions on one artwork.
Celebrate what you learned—not just what you made. This is emotional labor, too. Honor it.
Final Thoughts: Let the Waves Paint You, Too
You don't just paint waves. You become the waves. Unsteady, growing, crashing, shining. And eventually—you find your rhythm. Painting the hard stuff isn’t just about art. It’s about making space for your own transformation.
This is where art stops being decoration and becomes art. This is where you speak to yourself through color and form. Where you listen. Plenty have said that art is their therapy. And though I still think most people could use a therapist on the team, painting sure helps!
So go ahead. Stand at the edge. Make the first mark.
The ocean is waiting.
