Painting as a Spiritual Practice: Trust, Presence and the Slow Art Process

Falling Upwards IV, oil on canvas, 122 x 91.5 cm

I am writing to share the process I used in a new work and invite you to reflect on how painting can be a spiritual practice. 

You may recall that I recently wrote about the challenges and joys of painting ‘Falling Upwards III’, and of how, for months, I had worked with dogged determination and patience to realise the complex warp and weft of marks that make up the reeds and their reflections.  

The next work in the series, Falling Upwards IV, also pictures the edge of the lagoon. Masses of reeds emerge from reflected spiky shadows and sky. The water ripples in the breeze, taking these reflected forms on squiggly and meandering paths. Like the earlier work, this one has an unusual composition, evoking spatial indeterminacy, and the experience of simultaneously falling inwards and being lifted upwards.

Though the two paintings seem very alike, surprisingly, even to me, the process used to make them felt quite distinct. Rather than long isolated brush marks that spanned 50 – 60 cm, the marks in the more recent work were often shorter and the tapestry of them far denser. Muted, saturated, warm, cool, opaque and transparent – I harnessed every aspect of the relational dynamics of colour to painstakingly create depth with fine criss-crossing lines. 

I was constantly challenged to step from the known into the unknown, to reach for marks I had never sought before and to deepen my practice of trust and presence as an artist.

Each day as I picked up my brushes to work, I would re-experience the shocking truth of how slow the process was. It was as though I had to let go of the outside world, my normal pace and expectations of achievement, and commit to an alternate expression of time and value. Like Tibetan Buddhist monks, working one grain of sand at a time, to create large, complex mandalas, I had to slow down, regulate my nervous system, focus intently, and surrender to the process. As I did this, painting became profoundly connecting, meditative, nurturing, akin to a spiritual practice.  

I was reminded of my experiences walking labyrinths. Labyrinths have a single pathway to walk, unlike mazes that are made to confound and stimulate problem-solving. Though the path twists, loops and turns, taking apparent detours or wrong directions, it always leads to the centre. In this way, labyrinths invite us to enter a reflective journey, to travel both inwards and beyond.

Making Falling Upwards IV felt somewhat similar to this. It too demanded a slow and steady approach, steeped in acceptance and animated by awareness and curiosity. As I worked, my intention needed to encompass both each particular mark and the effect on, and of, the whole. I needed to trust that as if by alchemy, the painting could and would transcend the sum of all the minute parts to provide a rich experience for the viewer.

Perhaps you too have noticed how painting or other meditative and creative processes nurture and deepen your connection with your Self, others and Spirit? I’d love to hear your insights and reflections on this.

In addition, if you are keen to come and paint with me, please check out the 2026 retreats, artist residencies and mentoring opportunities, now listed on my website. There are still a few places available in March and April to join me in the Capertee Valley to hone your plein air painting technique and to explore further your own creative journey.

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