Day 14: Trying Something New — Acrylic Painting, Health, and Small Shifts

Why do we do the things we know better than to do?

Since I began oil painting in my early twenties, I knew there were precautions I was supposed to take—proper ventilation, disposing of oil‑soaked rags, keeping solvent lids closed, putting caps back on paint tubes. And for just about as long as I’ve been painting, I’ve been diligent about almost none of them.

I’m often appalled when my children say things like, “I’ll be fine, trust me,” about driving or crossing streets, as if they’re somehow impervious to misfortune. And yet here I am, in my mid‑forties, behaving as though the rules don’t apply to me either.

As it turns out, my painting practice was very likely making me quite sick.

About a year ago, I developed a persistent, nagging cough. Then it got worse. I started wheezing just walking up the stairs. My daily short runs became nearly impossible. With no history of asthma, I was prescribed an inhaler. I went on acid‑reflux medication. 

One day, while painting in my poorly ventilated, dusty, garage‑like studio, it finally occurred to me that perhaps this was not an ideal environment for lung health. I bought an air purifier. I installed an exhaust fan. I started throwing away my rags after every session. I did something previously unheard of: I put the caps back on my tubes of paint.

And I’m running again.

I’m not breaking any speed records, but I’m also no longer desperate to catch my breath.

Maintaining this newfound health means keeping my windows open and the commercial exhaust fan running while I paint—and January is the worst month for such things. She’s been kind to me so far. I wore a tank top a couple of days ago. But winter finally showed up, as I knew it would, and now I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingers when I descend into the arctic abyss I call my studio.

I was prepared for this. In December, I reluctantly bought heavy‑body acrylic paints, assuming I might use them all month at the warmth of my kitchen table. But truthfully, I was scared to do something new. I didn’t want to.

It took me fourteen days to open the acrylic paint.

When I feel intimidated, I do what I always do—I start small. If the medium was new, the subject matter and scale would not be.

I won’t tell you I loved it. But I did love being in a new environment. The slight change of pace gave me exactly the jolt I needed mid‑month. Today’s blue jay quietly harkens back to Day 7. Acrylics have a completely different feel—one I’ve been avoiding—but there are delights too: unmuddied color, crisp layers, and the freedom of working on fully dry surfaces.

I’m especially curious to see how my stencils will fare with acrylics. They’ll be easier to clean between layers, and the patterns won’t mix with what’s already on the canvas.

So here’s a quiet cheers to trying new things, even when they don’t seem like a big deal.

As I hope today’s painting shows, small things can carry real weight.

And if you’re an artist reading this and you work with acrylic paint, I’m all ears when it comes to tips and tricks.