Growth Requires the Courage to Be an Amateur Again - What the studio continues to teach me

Growth Requires the Courage to Be an Amateur Again
What the studio continues to teach me about discipline and discovery

Not long ago, I found myself sitting in the studio surrounded by two very different works in progress. One was a painting of ”Roberts Hall” at High Point University—architectural, detailed, demanding absolute accuracy. Every window mattered. Every shadow had to earn its place. Across it was a contemporary piece—looser, expressive, open to interpretation, free to wander.
What struck me wasn’t the contrast in style, but the mindset each required. One demanded precision and patience. The other demanded trust and courage. The painting of High Point University is in my wheelhouse. Something that I’m known for; the ability to capture intricate architectural subjects come naturally to me.  On the other hand the contemporary painting “Under the Wire” required me to step outside of my comfort zone, experiment and trust the direction making me feel like an amateur again.

And that’s when I was reminded of a simple truth we all know but often avoid: everyone that masters their craft, their livelihood once began as an amateur.

Three Short Takeaways

Growth Begins Where Comfort Ends
When you stretch into unfamiliar territory, confidence gives way to curiosity and imagination. That’s not weakness—it’s the starting line.

Discipline Beats Inspiration
Showing up daily matters more than getting it right. Improvement hides in repetition, not perfection. It’s the ability of taking risk, trying a new approach, a new perspective.

Variety Sharpens Vision
Working between structure and freedom—detail and abstraction—has made me more thoughtful, intentional, and present as an artist.  We all have the opportunity to take on our work in a new way, not making it wrote but enlightening and learning by experimenting.

Trying something new will often make you feel unpolished, uncertain, even exposed. That’s the cost of learning—and it’s a fair price. When the work matters to you, you stay with it long enough for clarity to emerge. You work through the early awkwardness. You let the process shape you as much as the outcome.

Looking back, I don’t regret a single moment spent pushing into unfamiliar territory. Even the pieces that didn’t land taught me something essential. Growth rarely looks graceful in the moment—but it always looks honest in hindsight.

So here’s the question I’ll leave you with:

What are you willing to be an amateur at?