What can I learn from Michelangelo in 2025?

As a full-time working artist in 2025, I sometimes get caught between wanting to create freely and feeling pressure to “master” everything—to be fast, visible, accomplished. Honestly, that tension is what stops a lot of really creative people form going forward with their craft. Then I read about Michelangelo and am shamed (in a really good way though). His name feels almost too large to touch, like he belongs in textbooks and marble halls. But when I look closer, I see an artist who wrestled deeply with his work, with himself, and with what it meant to make something meaningful in a complicated world. I really like that.

Michelangelo wasn’t just gifted—he was obsessed. He worked with intensity, solitude, and relentless drive. He carved, painted, sketched, designed buildings. He labored over details that most people would never see. He pushed himself physically and emotionally to the point of exhaustion. And yet, he kept creating—not for fame, but because he had to.

“If people knew how hard I worked to get my mastery, it wouldn't seem so wonderful at all.”

That quote says everything. In a culture that often glorifies talent and instant success, Michelangelo reminds me that greatness comes from discipline, sacrifice, and focus over time. It’s okay to work slowly. It’s okay to struggle. The work should challenge us.

What also strikes me is how spiritually driven he was. Whether or not you share his beliefs, there’s something powerful in the way he treated art as a calling—a bridge between the earthly and the divine. In a time where so much feels transactional, he reminds me that art can still be sacred.

He also lived with contradiction. He was intensely private but created public masterpieces. He loved the male form but lived in a culture that condemned it. He was a sculptor who painted the Sistine Chapel ceiling because he had to, not because he wanted to. There’s something reassuring about that complexity. It tells me that we don’t have to be perfectly aligned to create powerful work—we just have to keep showing up.

Michelangelo’s life teaches me that art isn’t just about beauty. It’s about devotion, wrestling, patience, and faith—in the process, in the craft, and in the possibility of saying something that lasts.

Artistic Enlightenment: Lessons from Italy

A couple years ago, my wife Joy and I had the opportunity to visit Italy. And honestly, visiting Italy was like stepping into an artist's dream. The country is a living, breathing gallery, and the experiences I had there have truly transformed my creative process.

Wandering through the Uffizi Gallery in Florence was like meeting the greats—Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Botticelli. Seeing their masterpieces up close taught me that there’s so much value in mastering traditional techniques and understanding art’s historical context. These guys showed me that sometimes, to innovate, you need to have a deep appreciation for the past.

The beauty of Venice, with its crumbling buildings and weathered charm, was a revelation. The city’s worn steps and peeling paint told stories of their own, proving that imperfection adds depth and character to art. This experience encouraged me to embrace flaws in my work and see them as unique features rather than mistakes.

“Honestly, art is everywhere in Italy, and people genuinely cherish it.”

Italy’s landscapes, like the rolling hills of Tuscany and the sunlit Amalfi Coast, were a lesson in color and light. Watching how the colors of the countryside changed with the light of the day helped me grasp the dynamic relationship between color and light in my paintings. The vibrant Mediterranean light has definitely influenced my palette, adding a new warmth and brightness.

Honestly, art is everywhere in Italy, and people genuinely cherish it. From Rome’s art districts to Florence’s artisan workshops, the dedication and passion I encountered were infectious. This immersion reminded me that true artistry isn't just about talent; it’s about persistent dedication to the craft.

One of the biggest takeaways from my Italian adventure was realizing that inspiration can be found anywhere I go. Whether in the grand frescoes of a cathedral in Rome, the elegance of a handmade ceramic in Sulmona, or the lively gestures of street performers in a Bari piazza, Italy taught me to always keep my eyes open. Every moment, no matter how small, can translate into a burst of creativity.

In a nutshell, my journey through “the boot” was a rich tapestry of lessons that will stay with me forever. The history, beauty, passion, and everyday moments I experienced have deeply enriched my creative vision and appreciation for art. I can’t wait to go back!

Creativity and Exploration

This summer, I was fortunate enough to undertake an incredible adventure through Greece, and my creative juices are flowing more than ever. The trip was a whirlwind of inspiration that has profoundly impacted my art.

Roaming around Athens, the grandeur of the ancient ruins, like the Parthenon, hit me hard. The architectural marvels aren't just historical relics; they’re masterpieces of balance and proportion. These structures pushed me to rethink the geometric precision in my own work, urging me to integrate more deliberate lines and symmetry.

The colors of Greece are mesmerizing. The turquoise waters against the crisp white buildings in coastal towns like Nafplio and Monemvasia create a stunning contrast that I couldn’t resist bringing into my art. I’ve started experimenting with these color palettes, aiming to capture that same sense of clarity and serenity.

“The colors of Greece are mesmerizing…”

Then there was the spontaneity of exploring small villages and markets. Interacting with local craftsmen and watching them at work was a revelation. Their dedication to their craft reminded me of the importance of hands-on experimentation and play in the creative process. Whether it’s trying out new techniques or mixing unconventional materials, this spirit of exploration is crucial. It’s about allowing oneself to play with ideas, to experiment without fear of failure, and to discover new possibilities.

One particularly impactful moment was visiting the monasteries in Meteora, perched on towering cliffs. The sheer audacity of their construction and the meditative quiet of the surroundings inspired me to incorporate more contemplative elements into my art. It’s about finding that balance between boldness and serenity.

Overall, my trip to mainland Greece was a profound reminder of how essential exploration and play are in the creative process. It’s through these unstructured, playful moments that innovation happens. Greece’s vibrant landscapes, rich history, and the spirit of its people have left a lasting imprint on my artistic journey, encouraging me to embrace both the precision of ancient structures and the spontaneity of modern life in my work.

If you ever feel stuck, sometimes the best thing you can do is wander, explore, and let your creative spirit play. Greece taught me that in the most beautiful way possible.

Impressionistic Heroes of Mine

I’ve been asked several times who may own personal favorite artists are. That’s easy: Claude and Vincent. Claude Monet and Vincent van Gogh, despite both being giants in the art world, bring different vibes to the canvas.

Monet, a key figure in Impressionism, was all about capturing the fleeting moments of light and color. His loose brushstrokes and vibrant hues are legendary, particularly in series like “Water Lilies,” where he painted the same scene under different lighting to show nature’s changing face. His style is about the immediate visual impression, focusing on natural light’s play and its impact on the landscape. Monet’s color palette—full of soft blues, greens, and pastels creates a serene, ethereal beauty that draws you in.

“Their subject matter also sets them apart…”

Van Gogh, meanwhile, is known for his emotional intensity and expressive style. As a Post-Impressionist, his paintings feature bold, dramatic brushstrokes and vivid colors. Unlike Monet’s tranquil scenes, Van Gogh’s works are charged with energy and emotion. “Starry Night” is a perfect example, with its swirling sky reflecting his inner turmoil and passion. Van Gogh’s colors are dramatic and symbolic, with intense yellows and blues conveying deep feelings. His thick, textured brushwork gives his paintings a tactile, almost three-dimensional quality.

Their subject matter also sets them apart. Monet’s art is deeply rooted in nature, often focusing on landscapes and gardens, inviting viewers to see the beauty and ever-changing light of the natural world. Van Gogh’s subjects are more varied, from landscapes to still lifes and portraits, often revealing a more personal and introspective side that reflects his own struggles and emotional states.

In essence, Monet’s art soothes and calms, while Van Gogh’s work engages and stirs the soul. Monet’s Impressionism captures the fleeting beauty of the external world, while Van Gogh’s Post-Impressionism dives into the artist’s internal world. Together, they showcase the diverse possibilities of art as a medium of expression, each bringing their unique vision and passion to life on the canvas.

Question 11: Where do you get inspiration for your work?

This question, “Where do you get your inspiration?” is one of the most asked questions I get. And it’s funny. It’s actually one of the most difficult questions to answer. It’s like someone asking you, “how do you breath?” Simple question, but how do you answer it? “I…uh…just do?” I don’t know how other artists might answer this question, but since this is my blog, I’ll answer it for myself.

For me personally, I need peace inside my head to create. I need quiet. This may just be because I’m an introvert rather than because peace is intricately connected to creativity. I don’t know. Maybe an extroverted artist would feel different, but that’s not me. And for me, quiet and peace happen best when I’m walking or (preferably) hiking in nature. It can take me a while to walk a few miles because I like to stop and just breathe, listen, take in the essence of the place. Hah! That sounds so “spiritual” but honestly, for me, I guess it really is. I can’t think outside the box and create when life is rushed, loud and crazy. I love rushed, loud and crazy (in bite sized pieces), don’t get me wrong. I just can’t create in that environment.

“…I feel the intense desire to communicate to someone else what I’m feeling at that moment in such a way that they feel it too.”

And usually, walking in that quiet place, taking it all in, I’m with my wife Joy. So it may be quiet around me, but I sometimes talk a lot in that context, expressing myself and processing the emotions the place excites inside my head. Does anyone else do this??? I’m probably really annoying to hike with.

Joy: “Why are we stopping?”

Me: “Listen to that!”

Joy: “What? I don’t hear anything”

Me: “I know. Isn’t it beautiful? Just the wind…that’s all I hear. That’s so beautiful!”

Joy is very patient and is really great at entering with me into that “sacred space”. It’s there I get ideas, and at that point, it’s not just “Oh, I can paint that mountain over there!” It’s more like I feel the intense desire to communicate to someone else what I’m feeling at that moment in such a way that they feel it too. When you look at it that way, it’s actually a very intimate thing — creating a piece of art.

So in a nutshell, I get my inspiration from walking, prayer, breathing and listening in the context of nature. It can take hours, so I can’t rush it at all. But given the time (and the quiet), inspiration comes and at that point, in that quiet moment, it can ironically break in like a hurricane. I love that.

"What inspires you as an artist?"

This week, I had the privilege of spending some time with one of my clients up in Pittsburgh, PA. I really enjoy the social part of what I do. The actual creation of artwork is very much a solitary “in my headspace” kind of work, so balancing that intense introvert time with some extrovert social time is a very necessary and wonderful thing. During that time shared, my client Josh asked me a question: “What inspires you as an artist?” I gave my short answer, but I’ve been thinking about that question for the last few days and figured it would help if I wrote down my answer.

When I take the time to really think deeply about what fans creativity in me — what inspires me to create, I keep coming back to one primary thing: When I paint, I basically am attempting to play God. I am trying to create a perfect world, albeit just in my artwork. I know that’s just me. There are so many artists both now and through history who don’t look at their artwork like I do. There are artists like Goya who used their work to shock the viewer as he attempted to use his artwork to display the really horrors of war. He was amazing. But I wouldn’t want a Goya hanging on my living room wall. It would creep me out. Please hear me — I’m not devaluing art that is like that. I can see the value and really do appreciate the fact that because art can “get into the soul of the viewer”, art created to provoke or instruct or shock the viewer is an absolutely valid way to use art. That’s just not me.

When I paint, I basically am attempting to play God.

I am busy trying to Eden. No big deal, right? That sounds really crazy or immensely egotistical but that really is at the heart of what I’m doing. With my artwork, I’m trying to imagine a world where there is always beauty, where this is no war, no death or sickness or sadness, where there are no power-hungry politicians or narcissistic leaders. A world where swords are not beaten into plowshares because swords never existed I the first place. That’s the world I am trying to create with my artwork: the world I’m looking for. When people have looked through my gallery and say, “I love your work. There’s just something really calming about it”, I smile to myself. “Calming about it?,” I want to say. It’s Eden. That place still calls to us. I suspect we’re all trying to create that perfect world, and stumble all over ourselves and everyone else because we’re attempting to create a place that by definition is perfect, and we are not. How do we make a world where there is no selfishness when we are selfish, or a world where there is peace and tranquility when there is war inside our own heads?

The answer to that question deserves a very long book and not a blog post. But if you look back at my artwork posted here on my website, you can see that longing, that reaching out to a world I wish was real, which (maybe???) CAN one day be real? Until it is real, my goal is to live my life as if it were real...To treat people the way I would treat them were we to be living in one of my landscapes so to speak. I’m not very good at that because I’m a very selfish person and hurt people as often as I encourage them. But no matter how old I get and no matter what my life path has led me through to date, I cannot shirk the longing for that place. That place I’ve never seen or fully experienced, but I’ve felt it so very close from time to time. And those brushes with the sublime, with the utterly holy — that is what fuels my creativity. THAT is why I paint what I paint.

An Artist in Italy (Part 2)

Pacentro, Italy

I was talking to someone the other day and mentioned I’d just gotten back from visiting Italy, and he then asked me about the crowds. “It’s so touristy!” he said. “I want to go somewhere less crowded”. I get that, but the problem is not that there are too many tourists in Italy. The problem is that all the tourists are looking at the same instagram feeds while planning their itinerary.

One awesome thing I tried when planning my itinerary was how to work around the “Instagram affect”. So I googled “Less visited parts of Italy”. I discovered one of the least visited regions (by American tourists) is the region just east of Rome: the region of Abruzzo. So I checked it out. It looked beautiful — Lots of cool hilltop towns and lots and lots of mountains begging to be hiked and explored. So then I googled “most interesting places to see in Abruzzo”. And that sort of planning made for a wonderful time for us. Planning the itinerary this way, we discovered one of my very favorite towns (perched on a mountainside) called Pacentro. It was a friendly place for tourists, but not overrun by tourists at all. I heard no English conversation at all. If there were visitors, they were mostly Italian.

The problem is not that there are too many tourists. The problem is that the tourists are all looking at the same Instagram feeds while planning their itinerary.

This town is ancient, with narrow, stone streets winding their way up the mountainside to the castle. In the old part of town (where we stayed), there were no cars allowed on the streets (hard to fit a car on a 6’ wide “street”!) Joy and I loved this place. In the morning, we’d open the windows and hear the jovial conversation of neighbors. When we’d come back in the evening, we’d grab something to cook at the local (very small) grocery store and then go back home and cook dinner. But then — in Italy, after dinner there is a ritual: the passeggiata. This is when the whole town walks around and meets their friends at one of the cafe’s for a coffee or a glass of wine. Joy and I walked across town to the small park overlooking a large valley below, and then slowly made our way back home, passing the main piazza filled with people sitting, chatting, and laughing quietly. Understand, this is not a nightly “party”. They’re not at all being loud. They’re just all seemingly enjoying each other. In Pacentro, I heard no TV on at all. As an American, if I were home at 8:00 PM, I’d be watching Netflix. Instead, these people were sitting around the fountain in the piazza, sitting on doorsteps, sitting in outdoor cafe’s — all just spending time with each other. This seemed really beautiful to me. I’m an introvert, but even I could recognize the beauty in this ritual. I loved Pacentro.

So the first and one of the most important lessons on trip planning was this: find the most beautiful of the less visited areas of wherever you’re traveling to. Planning like that scored big time for Joy and I. The last week of our trip, we threw out all this reasoning and lived to regret it big time. More on that next.

An Artist in Italy (Part 1)

This is one of the photos currently becoming a painting! I took it on an amazing hike we took just east of Pacentro, Italy.

Five years ago, I visited Italy, and ever since, I’ve been trying to figure out how and when we could get back there. Italy is not for everyone, but it’s definitely for me. Upon returning from Italy in 2017, I begin learning Italian. I was serious. I began discretely passing on little news articles to Joy about Italian villages offering homes for 1 euro. Joy has become very good at rolling her eyes.

Despite the realization I would never relocate to a hilltop village in Italy, Joy and I were finally able to visit again in early September of this year. Upon arriving in Rome, we headed directly east to Abruzzo, and then south into Puglia. Oh, Italy did it’s work on me, and I’m so glad. I’ll never really be the same.

If you’re still reading this, you might have realized that this blog post has little to do directly with “art”, but my experience there had a lot to do with creativity and life in general, and that all informs the artwork I do. I feel the need to write down my thoughts. So if you’re reading this, be aware this is going to be more of a journal entry than a typical blog post.

So, here we go:

What I learned from Italy, Part 1

First of all, and probably most importantly, Italy completely confronts my tendency to feel like I’m in control of my life. In Italy, Italy controls your life. From the first moments after picking up our rental car and wondering how the heck to get out of the airport (the signage was not AT ALL clear on this), the American in me threatened to bristle and think “well why don’t they have better signage???” (i.e. “why don’t they do things like Americans?”)

Literally, countless times every day, Joy and I were confronted with the fact that life is just really approached differently in Italy than in the United States and that is exactly why I wanted to visit this place again. I can’t tell you how emotionally healthy it felt to just take a deep breathe, sigh, and say (over and over again like a mantra), “I want to do this or that, but…we’ll see.” You’d have to know me to understand that that just is not me. My kids would probably all agree I have a Type A personality (which is why I need to visit places like Italy). See, in Italy, all my plans had to be held very loosely in order to enjoy the place at all. I had every day pretty much all planned out, but Italy dictated that I hold those plans in an open palm, and to be open to practically anything changing those plans. At that point, I was confronted with a choice: I could either really dig in my heals and fight it and wish I’d gone to Germany or England instead, OR give into it and roll with it, letting Italy shape me like I was a lump of clay on a potters wheel and Italy was the potter. I chose the latter and I’m so glad I did.

Italy was absolutely exhausting and absolutely wonderful. I probably almost died there, and unrelated to that, I took home a souvenir that made me more sick than I ever remember being in my life. But I’m ready to go back. I love that place and have lots of stories and reflections I want to share.

Next time.

How to Handle Failure

I’ve been super busy lately. Hint: I hate being super busy unless I’m super busy painting. I hear you can have too much of a good thing, but that rule of thumb does not apply to my artwork (not so far anyway). I get lost in my artwork. It’s really my very happy place.

Until last Wednesday.

I was working on a series of three pieces that will be hung together (as a triptych). It was a pretty simple scene — mountain ranges and sky. I know how to paint mountain ranges and sky so I figured that this was going to be pretty simple. I began to apply the paint day after day and eventually, the piece entered “the ugly stage”. So far so good. See, every painting I ever have done has gone through that dreaded “ugly stage”. That stage is where most fledgling artists stop and throw their canvas against the wall and shout out some colorful French obscenities. The thing about the ugly stage is that usually, the very next day, the piece rounds the corner and begins to take on some maturity — it starts to look like what you intended it to look like. That is such an awesome thing. That turning point happens within a day or two of entering that ugly stage.

Until last Wednesday.

I could not make this painting idea work. It was boring. It was ugly and I was coming to the realization that the ugly I was seeing was not just a stage. It was really bad. I’ve heard gallery visitors tell their children, “Oh sweetie, just remember…there are NO MISTAKES in art”.

IF ONLY.

I make mistakes. What you do with the mistake is what will sink you or what will propel you as a creative person into a completely different direction. But oh man, it’s so difficult. I hate failure.

I refrained from throwing the canvases across the room, and I don’t know French swear words and I don’t say English swear words so I was really stuck. I felt so discouraged and frustrated. My painting was ugly and boring. And that is not okay. I sat with that realization and had to just admit that I was not perfect and that THAT was okay.

By the time evening came, I was ready to just scrape off what I’d begun painting and start all over again with a different idea. The “ugly stage” bested me. I think my real problem was that I wanted to just knock out something easy — so I painted mountain ranges and sky. I can do that in my sleep. It turns out that laziness and pride is not the friend of creativity. When I do the best work is when I approach a subject with joy, curiosity, respect and reverence and that is definitely not how I approached my failed triptych.

Maybe creativity needs silence to be ignited.

So at 2:30 AM, I woke up. In that very quiet and still time of the night, nothing was in my head at all. My mind was a completely blank canvas (pardon the pun). And quite unbidden, I instantly saw in my head an idea I’d never thought of before. And then I got so excited, I walked up to my attic studio and seriously contemplated starting to scrape off my old composition so I could begin the new idea right then and there. With wisdom not my own, I decided that idea was over the top and that I needed sleep so…several hours later I began to transform this triptych into something completely different than I’ve ever done before. And I’m having so much fun with it, that I’ve started an additional single painting using the same technique I’m using for the triptych!

Why moments of insight can’t come at 2:00 PM rather than 2:00 AM is unknown to me but that’s often how it works. Maybe creativity needs silence to be ignited. Maybe my heart needs stillness to be able to hear the voice of the real Creator. I don’t know. It feels mystical though.

When I’m done with these pieces. I’m so excited and continue to have so much fun doing what I do. And I’m so thankful people are willing to part with their money in exchange for one of my paintings. That is amazing and humbling.

So, more than ever, I am committed never to forget my real task: to approach every subject I paint with joy, curiosity, respect and reverence, even if it means I need to slow down and be quiet in order to make sure that happens.

The Story Behind…"Gentle Showers on a Summer Afternoon"

Have you ever hiked in the rain? Well, we can now say that we have. Understand, this was not the original plan, but one thing about doing ANYTHING outside in the mountains of Western North Carolina in July is that those plans always need contingencies for an afternoon thunderstorm.

The morning was gorgeous. North Carolina is known for it’s blue sky, and the locals are really proud of it. “Carolina Blue” they call it. And in the mountains above most of the summer humidity, that blue sky is truly gorgeous. So that Saturday morning a couple summer ago, we packed our backpacks with sub sandwiches, lots of water and Pim’s. I’ve written about Pim’s before. Many thanks to the British for that wonderful, awesome “biscuit”. So good. It’s to the point now that it’s just not a proper hike without the Pim’s.

We headed northeast to a trail we’d not taken before (towards Roan Mountain on the Tennessee border) and began our walk. Wildflowers were EVERYWHERE and the air was perfect — warm but not oppressively hot and a wonderful breeze was coming from the west. By early afternoon, a few clouds began gathering over the high peaks and by the time we stopped for lunch, we were getting a few (just a few) rain drops. And then…

“…we looked back across the valley and I kind of gasped…

And then the thunder started, so we spent about an hour hiding under some overhanging rocks by the stream we were following, rating the thunder on a scale of 1-10. We ended up wet and kind of cold (but we still had our Pim’s so all was not lost). After the rain shower was over, we decided to head back to the car as fast as we could because we saw more rain coming in the distance. When we got back to the car though, we looked back across the valley and I kind of gasped. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo. And then…I painted it.

I think the moral of the story is that even when something uncomfortable or frightening is happening, I need to look around and see the beauty around me even then. Sometimes it’s exquisite. Sometimes it’s worth painting!