Coming Home to Myself in Art, Part 2: The First Marks
As I stood before the wall, ready to start painting the mural, I felt anticipation, excitement… and a little nervous.
I’d never painted with spray paint before. It was a new medium for me.
So I decided: I’ll just play.
I picked up the first color that called to me—yellow—and started making yellow marks on the wall.
Then I picked up the next color that called to me, and the next.
I followed the movement my body naturally wanted to do. I made marks on the wall.
And I just kept going.
Following what felt intuitive. What felt good.
Here’s a glimpse of what that looked like in motion:
Watch the first marks take shape—colorful, instinctive, and full of movement.
Accessibility description: This time-lapse shows Nikki spray-painting the first mural layers—beginning with yellow circles, then building intuitively with red, turquoise, lavender, and orange. Some early marks are covered as the mural evolves.
When I paused and stepped back to look at what I had done, the first thing that came to my mind wasn’t pride or delight.
It was judgment.
“What are others going to think of this?”
“Will they think this is the final mural when it’s just the beginning?”
“Will they think this is the type of art that I make?”
I knew my spouse and kids were going to see the beginning of my process.
And I felt the urge to explain myself.
And I did.
I told them:
“Oh no, this is just the first layer. Remember I like to do lots of layers in my art—this isn’t the end.”
Like I had to explain the beginning.
Like I had to defend my process.
It felt like… shame.
Like I had to prove myself.
This is what the beginning looked like.
Messy, colorful, and full of movement. Some of these marks didn’t last—like the yellow marks I started with—but they mattered.
They helped me begin the playful process.
It’s hard to put myself out there.
To literally paint my process on the wall in our backyard, where others can see it.
Where they have to see me.
And that’s vulnerable.
That’s scary.
After I finished the first part of the mural, one of my kids came up to me.
They looked up at the wall, then said:
“Mommy, it’s beautiful!”
And I… couldn’t take it in.
I couldn’t receive that honest, raw, sincere compliment.
Because I was still looking through eyes of shame, not eyes of love and curiosity.
That moment taught me something.
My kids know how to love freely.
They know how to enjoy the moment.
They believe every part of me is beautiful.
They believe what I make is beautiful.
And honestly?
I want to be more like them.
✨Reflection Question:
Have you ever created something and felt the need to explain, justify, or apologize for it?
What if you didn’t owe anyone an explanation?
What if the act of creating—of beginning—was enough?
Want support in reclaiming your creative voice?
I offer individual and group therapy for creatives, changemakers, and deep feelers who want to reconnect with themselves through expressive, intuitive work.
Let’s begin together.
Schedule a free consultation or explore more about what therapy with me looks like here.
