Wiping sweat from my brow I return from a steep hill climb to the hotel. Readying myself for the day I pull on my painter shorts, grab my brushes, and haul my easel to the town square. Today, I will paint this adorable Italian town of Antimonina.

As my brush swishes and the oil paints swirl, locals stop and watch like I am putting on a show. Speaking to me in romantic rapid Italian I smile and nod…why did I not study the language more before my arrival? Silly American.

My painting instructor, Pam Ingalls, walks to the square to check my progress. “More contrast,” she says. “Separate the lights from the darks. Paint the shapes, don’t draw the lines.” I carefully consider her feedback and trust her lead as I fluidly swing brush to pallet, and then brush to canvas. I respect how she meets each student where they are at, and then pushes them to be better. I think she sees my potential so she might be pushing a little extra hard.

I reflect back to the first few days of the painting course, how I resisted her feedback with every bone in my body. This style of Russian Impressionism oil painting is completely opposite to the style of my art and current body of work. It’s painterly, not precise. Soft edges instead of bold lines. What was I thinking?!

But today is different, I tell myself. I whisper my intention under my breath: to learn and experience something new. As I continue moving my hands I embrace the beginners’ mind and allow myself to be taught by another, something I haven’t practiced in my art since I established my own style in acrylics years ago.

Finito! I exclaim to my student peers as I clamber back into the air-conditioned painting room. It’s time for lunch and I need a break.

The sweet scent of pomodori and basil drifts from my plate making my mouth water, even though this is the 8th bowl of pasta I’ve been fed since arriving in Italy only 3 days ago. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in Italy so far, it’s that the Italians know how to do their carbs (they must know I ran a marathon just over a week ago!). 

It’s time for a riposo, so I hit the pool under the nearby mountain summit, tre pitzie. Oh, and lunch isn’t complete in Italy without an espresso!

Okay, back to painting, I can do this. My instructor gives me an assignment: to paint a photograph upside down. The idea is to get me to stop painting the object and to start painting the shape; the lights and the darks. Okay, maybe I can’t do this after all.

Beginners’ mind, I remind myself. Okay, fine. I’ll give it a try. At first my brain feels like it’s trying to do a summersault. But eventually it settles into this upside-down dimension. I finally flip the piece right side up…Wow, I actually kind of like it!

After some emails to home and an evening stroll, it’s time for dinner. More pasta, of course. This time with eggplant. Good conversation with friends that were mere strangers days ago.

As I record my thoughts that night in my little Italian room, I recognize how far I’ve already pushed myself out of my comfort zone this week. A million miles from home. A completely different style of painting and a new medium. A group of people I’d never met. Though I am beyond curious to explore all of the edges in this life of being human, I realize how proud I am of the art style I have already developed all alone in my studio. And how I shouldn’t simply gloss over my stylistic success.