Even when I’m not painting, I am an artist.

One of the greatest internal debates as an artist, illustrator, writer, or any form of creator, is: What is my style?

At a later date I would love to get into the nitty gritty details of my year abroad and what it was like studying art in Italy and what I learned within the walls of the Accademia.

But what I learned about myself as an artist extends past those marble walls. Now look, I would be lying if I said I didn’t think I would move to Italy for my year at the Accademia di Belle Arti di Bologna and come out the other side an entirely new artist. An artist who was certain about my artistic identity, certain about my favorite medium, well versed in my go to color palettes, and had a clearly defined style and brand.

But what I found instead what something a lot less confined and a lot more intimate.

I look at the works I created this year, and I feel a sense of pride, but it’s not necessarily pride for the pieces themselves. I don’t look at these works and see my greatest masterpieces. Instead, I see all of the chicken scratch sketches, the journal entries, and all of the collages and mood boards I curated throughout my year. Because for each painting that I came home with, there were about 2-3 attempted/failed pieces, journal pages filled with brainstorms and random designs, and about 5 conversations with my friends and classmates about my next ideas.

But even with all of that, an entire year of that, I still don’t feel I came out of the year with my expected end result. But was I do see, is progress. I see trial and error. I see experimentation and freedom.

I see a younger version of me that had NO idea what to paint when I finally had the time and freedom to paint whatever I wanted.

I see the version of myself that had to walk into an Italian art store and try to maneuver an entirely new language and country with none of the supplies and brands I had become so familiar with at home.

I see moments and challenges built into the fabric of my paintings, engraved with each brushstroke, memories interwoven into the bleach-white wick of every canvas.

So when I finally had the courage to maneuver an Italian art store, I bought every medium I had dabbled in and wanted to spend more time on: gouache, acrylic, oil, oil pastels, chalk pastels, oil sticks, colored pencils, markers, and all the paper and canvases that go with those mediums. Basically the only thing I had brought with me, were my 5 year old watercolors and my various brushes that I couldn’t bear to part with.

Some might call this a little overzealous, but had I promised myself that I would give myself the opportunity to experiment with every medium — that I wouldn’t let my lack of access to supplies strain on my artistic process and experimentation. And while I had previously favored acrylic paints, I wasn’t going to force myself to stick with one medium. I wanted to give myself the space to become a different artist with different preferences. But what I wasn’t expecting, was that when I was finally back in my new room in my new apartment with my new art supplies, I would feel so, stuck.

I felt so stuck. I had never let myself ask the question: If I could paint anything, what would I paint?

I had idealized this year for so long. I was so sure that I would get to art school and the art would just flow, but I was trying so hard to understand the meaning and bigger picture behind my pieces, that I stopped being an artist. I stopped experimenting. I became so stuck on the finished product, trying to fit the rigid standards set by my professors (and myself), that I stopped enjoying the process of putting paint to paper. I was no longer watching the way the watercolor flows off of the brush and bleeds into the surrounding colors, almost like it was alive with a mind of its own.

One of my favorite artistic quotes comes from Tyler, the Creator. In an interview in 2025 he said, “Create like a child, edit like a scientist”. Reconnecting with this quote changed everything for me. Because I wasn’t creating like a child and editing like a scientist. I was planning like a scientist, creating like a scientist, and editing process was more like a brutally honest and negative self critique series.

But in the moment, I wasn’t seeing what I see now. Because once I started to let go, once I started to play, I started to see how my expectations of who I wanted to be as an artist, as what I thought it meant to be an artist, was limiting my ability to become the artist and creator I wanted to become.

This is where artistic style comes in. Because I always thought that my artistic style was bigger scale canvases of detailed and colorful scenes in acrylic and oil. But I all of a sudden, the big pieces felt overwhelming. Acrylic felt stiff. Oil felt like a never-ending drying process that let to starting pieces I never finished.

It wasn’t artist block. I was still creating. I was doing smaller watercolor pieces, doodles, and trying new palette combos in oil pastel. But to me, those weren’t who I was trying to be as an artist. Those smaller pieces didn’t align with this assumed artistic identity I had created for myself.

As I look back, this phase can be be defined as me downplaying my creativity and the natural ebb and flow of the artistic process. Of course I had an expectation of who I would become as an artist. Of course I was going to feel like all of my artistic knowledge in the past meant nothing and I was starting over from zero — I truly cannot express how strange it is to try and create abroad when the materials, space, and surrounding inspiration you’re so used to, are different.

I kept trying to force myself into creating these larger oil and acrylic pieces, but what was really drawing my attention were pen sketches, chunky oil pastel on paper, and smaller watercolor illustrations. But with each smaller piece that didn’t feel like it was contributing to anything, and even the bigger pieces that were sometimes really overwhelming and I didn’t really like, I could feel something connecting.

I don’t have to pick one style. I don’t have to pick one color palette. I don’t have to pick my favorite medium or size. I don’t have to pick. I don’t have to pick.

One of my favorite conversations and artistic breakthroughs was at a painting coffee date with my friend Maia. We were talking about artistic styles and I voiced my frustration that I still hadn’t figured out what medium I wanted to attach myself to.

She responded with, “I don’t want to pick one medium, that sounds boring. How boring would it be to have your ‘one medium’ and style figured out at our age, that would be so pointless to me”.

I can remember the internal reaction I had to her words. It was like an instant release of pressure I had been putting on myself — pressure I didn’t know was there. Because what a gift it is to be uncertain. What a gift it is to be open to surprises and let yourself be vulnerable to uncertainty and experimentation.

So even though I didn’t figure out my “style” or my “medium” this year, I did discover this:

I know what kind of watercolor paper I like. I know that I actually do like watercolor, and I am good at it. I know that even though oil painting feels more professional, I still like acrylic paints more (mostly because I think I move to quickly for oil paints hehe). I learned that I love creating digital collages. I learned that I LOVE TO WRITE.

I LOVE wearing a cute outfit and experimenting with fashion.

I love finding little treasures in my travels and collaging them into a scrapbook journal.

I learned that I DO love working with bright colors.

I learned that I DO love painting the ocean.

I confirmed that the small Italian streets and flower filled windows will always be a source of inspiration.

I learned that not everything has to be a masterpiece.

And I learned that everything I just listed, accumulates into who I am as an artist.

My environmental studies, my interest in sustainable agriculture, my passion for fashion, those are not separate parts of my life, they are all parts of my identity as an artist.

And most importantly, everything I just listed, IS ART.

Because heres’ the deal: Even when I’m not painting, I am an artist.

It’s who I am. It’s in every single little action. It’s in the way I sign my name and the way I hum my favorite song.

I was trying so hard to define my artistic identity, that I stopped believing in the creative fabric woven into my existence.

I am a strong believer that we are all artists. We are all creatives. You might not paint, but do you write? You might hate oil paints, but have you tried soft pastels? You might not play guitar, but I know your closet is color coordinated and you love to pull out that orange purse.

This is what my year looked like. I may not have “found my artistic identity”, but I did get a substantial grasp of who I am. I know what makes me tick. I know what makes waking up in the morning worth it.

And that is tied directly to who I am as an artist. So while I still feel those masterpieces I had manifested before my Italian experience are itching to be created, the pull hasn’t severed just yet, I can guarantee that what I would have created a year ago, 6 months ago, or even 3 months ago, would be absolutely different than what I would create now. And that is exactly how it should be.

Because no matter what I create, no matter how big or small, inked across a journal or chalked up on a canvas, it is all tied up into who I am.

And every pair of jorts, kitten heels, and sunglasses, and every half filled journal is a representation of my artistic self.

Because I am an artist.

And everything I am is art.