Lessons Beyond Brushstrokes: What Watercolor Teaches Us About Control, Mistakes, and Time

I have been seeking new challenges in different areas. This past weekend was no different: I participated in another delightful watercolor workshop.

I really enjoyed my first experience a few months ago, which is why I registered for this second workshop. My main intention was to accompany my daughter and introduce her to this delicate and wonderful painting technique. It is worth noting that her artistic flair is far more pronounced than mine.

To my surprise, this new experience exceeded my expectations. Not because I had any doubt it would be valuable—Letícia Volpi is a talented artist and an excellent teacher—but because I had the opportunity to contrast two moments of learning.

In the first workshop, my focus was heavily on what I was supposed to do: understanding the operational side of the technique and reproducing the demonstrated effects. This time, while I was still learning the technique, I was able to observe my own reactions more clearly when facing the blank paper and a color palette with its many nuances, dilutions, and mixtures.

Watercolor is a technique that combines intention and unpredictability. We can anticipate factors like shape, color contrasts, and certain visual effects, such as the white space where shapes meet. However, water mixed with pigment has its own dynamics.

The outcome is difficult to predict—especially for beginner painters like me. Often, we are only able to appreciate the final piece hours after the last brushstroke, once the work is completely dry.

Right at the beginning of the workshop, the participants shared the motivations that brought them there. For my part, I was looking to accept the technique's unpredictability, tame my impulse for control, and quiet my mind, which is always so restless with day-to-day matters.

Over roughly four hours of exercises, exchanges, and learning, I realized that compared to my first experience, I was less concerned with getting it right and more open to experimenting. What I discovered went beyond the activity's limits and resonated with other reflections on life and work.

Here are a few of them:

1. Accepting That Not Everything Can Be Controlled

In watercolor, it seems that the more we try to control all the variables that shape the result, the more we limit the fluidity and positive surprises that can emerge from freer experimentation.

It is challenging to direct the paths of paint on paper, especially when it is more fluid and heavily loaded. When one mass meets another, we need to allow the magic to happen. The effect can be completely unexpected—and often more interesting than what we had imagined.

At the end of my first piece, I decided to take a risk and splatter the paper with a bold, contrasting color. That ended up being one of the aspects I liked most about the work.

How often do we miss out on discovering new solutions for fear of "ruining" something—especially when it seems to be finished?

In life and work, we also face moments when control slips through our hands. In those situations, trusting the process does not mean assuming everything will turn out as we wish, but acting with intention, observing what emerges, and adjusting our choices as new possibilities reveal themselves.

2. Turning Mistakes into Part of the Process

At one point, I accidentally spilled paint onto a section of my piece. Immediately, a thought crossed my mind: "I ruined everything! I'll have to start over!"

However, I quickly tried to shift my perspective. That blot could be repurposed and transformed into something meaningful for the artwork. I accepted the "flaw" and incorporated it into the final expression.

The blot didn't disappear. What changed was the way I chose to look at it.

How many situations that initially seem like errors end up turning into creative solutions? Many results initially judged as inadequate can open up paths that wouldn't have been considered under normal circumstances.

This doesn't mean romanticizing errors or ignoring their consequences. It means recognizing that after something unexpected happens, we can still choose how to respond: abandon, correct, adapt, or transform.

3. Having the Courage to Experiment

At first, facing the blank paper, brushes, paints, and water can be intimidating.

But what would actually be the consequence of an "imperfect" piece? After all, it is just a piece of blank paper—and an opportunity to learn.

We need the courage to venture out and be gentle with ourselves in the face of potential imperfections. Creative courage isn't born from certainty, but from the willingness to experiment even knowing that the result might not match what we imagined.

How often do we miss out on valuable experiences for fear of being judged? And how can we expect understanding from others when we don't even allow ourselves to learn, test, and be imperfect?

In this second workshop, I noticed I was more willing to take small risks, perhaps because I realized that the goal wasn't to produce a flawless piece but to learn with more freedom and to experience the process.

4. Recognizing the Right Time to Stop

Faced with certain challenges, we can tirelessly refine our work in hopes of delivering an irreproachable solution.

However, part of maturity lies in recognizing when a new intervention still adds value—and when it merely consumes energy, increases process strain, or risks compromising the results already achieved.

This was one of the greatest takeaways from the workshop. At a certain point, Letícia was firm and signaled that it was time to stop.

It was an invitation to let the chemistry happen and only later evaluate the need—or lack thereof—for further interventions.

Stopping doesn't necessarily mean giving up. It can mean recognizing that we have already done enough and that we need to give it time to observe what will reveal itself.

A curious detail is that a few days later, at an exhibition of Letícia's work, the piece the curator considered the most beautiful was one the artist had started and set aside to resume later. As time passed and she revisited it, she realized the piece was already complete.

Nothing more needed to be added.

5. Respecting the Timing of the Process

We must recognize that the timing of many things is independent of our actions and will. Trying to rush a process can have the opposite effect, especially when maturation or interdependencies are involved.

In times of rapid change, we need to stay mindful so we don't rush too fast and lose sight of valuable aspects along the way.

In watercolor, you have to allow each layer to find its own time. Overloading the work in its initial stages can prevent us from observing the results and learning from them. It can also eliminate the opportunity to intervene later with greater awareness and intentionality—or to choose not to intervene at all.

While the paint dries, something continues to happen. The water moves, the pigments settle, the colors meet, and the work takes on forms we couldn't see before.

Thus, life, much like watercolor, should hold its moments of fluidity, lightness, contemplation, and waiting—and teach us to gently welcome the imperfect, the unexpected, and the unknown.

#LifelongLearning #GrowthMindset #EmbracingUncertainty #LearningFromMistakes #Creativity #PersonalDevelopment #Watercolor