There are days when creativity feels like a gentle invitation, and then there are days when it feels like a full body pull. Today was the latter. Colorado woke up under a snowy sky, the kind that promises soft powder and makes staying inside feel like a gift rather than a limitation. It felt like the perfect day to paint, so I drove to Jerry’s Artarama in Fort Collins, my favorite place to wander when I want to feel inspired.
I went with a clear mission. I wanted to pick up a few paints I had been coveting for months. Daniel Smith’s Potter’s Pink and Deep Scarlet had been calling to me, and today I finally let myself bring them home. I also treated myself to a couple of Princeton VelvetTouch brushes because they feel incredible in my hand. They make me slow down and savor each stroke. And since I was already leaning into indulgence, I added two pads of Arches watercolor paper to my basket. Anyone who paints knows that Arches is the paper you buy when you are ready to create something that matters.
When I got home, I unwrapped the paper and felt my stomach drop. It was black. Not a soft gray or a deep cream. Truly black. I had never painted on black watercolor paper in my life. My first reaction was disappointment, followed quickly by doubt. I was suddenly convinced I did not have the skills to make anything worthwhile on a surface that felt so unfamiliar.
But the snow was still falling. The house was quiet. And something in me decided to try anyway.
I opened the block, mixed my new colors, and let myself play. At first the paint sank into the darkness in a way that felt unsettling. Then I added a touch of white. Then a little more. Slowly the page shifted. Light began to appear where there had been none. The black paper was not a barrier. It was a night sky waiting for a story.
Without planning to, I found myself painting the Northern Lights. Maybe it was the memory of standing under them in real life. Maybe it was the contrast of cold air outside and warm light inside. Whatever the reason, the colors began to dance across the page in a way that felt both familiar and new. Potter’s Pink softened the edges. Deep Scarlet added warmth. White gouache created the shimmer that brought everything to life.
When I finished, I realized I was smiling. The painting felt alive. More importantly, I felt proud. What started as a mistake became a moment of discovery. Black paper had asked me to trust myself, and I did.
#HRTechLadiesWhoPaint is the hashtag to follow for more painting, and writing, about what artistry can teach us.
A little travel, a little tech, a splash of watercolor—and probably snacks. 