Transparency

Today’s tiny painting is a transparent flower—and before you think, Oh lovely, that looks simple, let me tell you: transparency is anything but.

This little flower looks soft and airy, almost effortless. But transparency—real transparency—is brave work. It’s letting the layers show. It’s allowing light through. It’s resisting the urge to paint everything opaque and “finished” so no one can see where you hesitated, where the color pooled, where the paper decided to have an opinion of its own.

Which, if I’m honest, feels a lot like life.

One of my quiet goals for this year is to be more transparent. Not dramatic. Not oversharing-for-sport. Just… real. Honest. Less polished, more present. And wow—turns out that’s harder than I expected.

Transparency means saying this is hard without immediately following it with but I’m fine.
It means letting joy be visible without downplaying it.
It means allowing softness without apologizing for it.

This flower required me to slow down. To trust the water. To let the pigment move and not control every single edge. Some parts are barely there. Some are layered. Some surprised me. (Isn’t that always the case?)

And that’s what I want more of this year—not perfection, not performance—but presence.

I love that transparent watercolor asks you to work with the light instead of covering everything up. You can’t fake it. You can’t rush it. You either allow the paper to glow through… or you don’t.

Life feels a little like that too.

Being transparent doesn’t mean having it all figured out. It means letting yourself be seen mid-process. Still learning. Still growing. Still becoming.

So today’s small thing is a reminder to myself—and maybe to you—that it’s okay to be layered and light at the same time. That strength doesn’t always look bold. Sometimes it looks like a quiet pink petal letting the light shine through.

If you’re painting along, maybe today’s tiny piece reflects something you’re practicing too. Gentleness. Honesty. Courage. Or maybe you’re just enjoying how the water does that magical thing where it knows exactly where it wants to go.

Either way, I’m glad you’re here.

Here’s to tiny paintings.
To small moments.
To letting a little more light through—one day, one brushstroke at a time.