Why I Still Hand-Paint ~ Even in a Digital World

I love digital art. I really do. It’s flexible, efficient, and endlessly adaptable~ and it’s helped me bring concepts to life in ways I never imagined. I use it often and with intention. But even with all of that, I still find myself coming back to the brush. Back to the quiet sound of water in a ceramic or glass dish, the pull of bristles on paper, the scent of pigment. There’s something about traditional media that never left me, and likely never will.

In college, I discovered a deep love for process-heavy work. Lithography, jewelry making, relief printing~ all of it captivated me. There was something meditative and meaningful in the slow buildup of each step. Mixing inks, prepping plates, hand-cranking a press. Printmaking taught me the value of patience and rhythm. It showed me how to respect the process, to honor the physical engagement with the work itself. That same respect is what draws me back to hand-painting again and again.

There’s a physicality to hand-painting that digital simply can’t replicate. It asks more of me~ not in difficulty, but in presence. With digital, there’s always an undo button. With paint, there’s only movement, intention, and adjustment. It becomes a dialogue between the piece and myself. A misstep isn’t failure; it’s part of the texture. It becomes the story.

When I hand-paint, I feel more grounded. I’m in my body, fully present in the process. There’s no Wi-Fi, no notification pings, no backlit screen straining my eyes. It’s just me, the pigments, the brush, and the rhythm of it all. It brings me back to why I started making art in the first place. That quiet joy of watching color bloom across paper. The excitement of layering, lifting, glazing. The unpredictable moments when water and pigment surprise you~ and you lean into it.

I think we all need something tactile. Something we can touch, hold, and feel change under our hands. For me, hand-painting is that tether. It reminds me that not everything needs to be perfect, fast, or polished. It can be raw. Honest. Unedited. And still worthy.

That’s not to say digital doesn’t have a deep place in my practice~ it absolutely does. I work in both worlds, often jumping between them depending on the project or the emotional tone I’m chasing. But traditional painting remains my core. My ritual. My return.

There’s value in imperfection. In texture. In slowing down enough to make a mistake and work through it instead of erasing it. That’s why I still hand-paint. It keeps me honest. It keeps me connected. And it keeps me creating art that feels like it came from something real.

Thanks for being here and supporting both sides of the process. Whether it's ink and pixels or bristles and paper, I'm glad you're with me for the journey.