When My Practice Found Its Name
Sometimes we discover the meaning of something we have been doing for a long time. Not because it has changed, but because someone else helps us see it from a different perspective. This is what happened to me with my watercolour practice.
For years, I simply painted in the way that felt natural to me. I chose a few colours, allowed water and pigment to interact, created simple shapes, and followed the quiet dialogue between the brush and the paper. It was my way of slowing down, observing, and returning to the present moment.
I never felt the need to give it a name.
It was simply my way of painting.
Then, one day, I received a proposal from Domestika to create three courses for their platform. During the interview, while explaining my process, I suddenly saw my own work from the outside. The things that had always felt instinctive to me — using a limited palette, letting the water guide the process, creating without focusing on the final result — were not just personal habits. They were the elements of a practice.Domestika had recognised something before I fully understood it myself: my way of approaching watercolour had its own identity.
A bridge between art and well-being.
Not therapy, but a creative space for emotional balance, presence, and reconnecting with ourselves.That was the moment I understood that my practice needed a name.
The name came naturally: Mindful Watercolour.
It was not the beginning of something new, but the recognition of something that had already been there. A way to give words to a practice that had grown quietly over time. Although the collaboration with Domestika did not happen, that moment stayed with me.It did not change my direction. It simply gave me a new awareness: what I had been doing naturally for years had a structure, a uniqueness, and a power that could be shared.
Afterwards, I asked my students to share their experiences, and their words deeply moved me. They spoke not only about learning watercolour, but about finding calm, confidence, freedom, and a different relationship with creativity. Through their voices, I could see my own practice reflected back to me.
That was when I understood that this quiet way of painting was not only meaningful for me. It could become a space for others too. Sharing it more openly through social media was a natural next step, and I was surprised by how many people connected with this approach.
Maybe because, in a world that constantly asks us to rush and produce, there is a growing need for moments of stillness. Sometimes we create something before we have the words to describe it. Sometimes a practice exists quietly for years before we realise it has its own identity.
For me, finding the name was not the beginning of the journey. It was the moment I recognised the path I was already walking. Every practice begins with a first brushstroke.
Wherever you are starting from, you are welcome here.