Being in Alignment? Between Comfort and Vulnerability

Lately, I’ve been painting several small landscape pieces based on travel photos.I liked the rhythm. It felt easy, fairly quick, and the result was satisfying, pleasing.There was a quiet enjoyment in that work—something fluid, without resistance.

At the same time, I found myself thinking about my creative process, which is usually much more rooted in discomfort. That’s when a question emerged:

does this sense of comfort come from being in alignment…

or from feeling safe?

Am I aligned,

or am I protecting myself?

When I create something that truly comes from deep within me—something that moves me—the relationship to the work changes.

I become more attached to the outcome, even though I know the process is what matters most. I feel more vulnerable, and more hesitant to share these pieces.

Comments, even kind ones, can then feel like arrows rather than drops of water.

These projects also begin in a much blurrier place. There is a direction, an inner pull, but the image isn’t clear. There are more studies, more trial and error, more compositional decisions to make.

Painting process. Studies, references, hesitations. To the left we have a graphite drawing, in the middle we have de reference photo and to the right (and back) we have the oil painting.

The process becomes exponentially more uncomfortable, and the outcome far less certain.It’s a demanding path—slow, sometimes disorienting.

On the other hand, some works are more contemplative. The direction is clearer, there are fewer decisions to make, fewer adjustments. I feel less attached to the result, even though it is often more predictably pleasing.

There is a softness there. A simplicity. A kind of rest.

So I ask myself:

What if the path lies precisely in this alternation?

Is it possible—or even desirable—to create deep, rich, powerful work every. single. time?

Or do we need these smaller milestones, these quieter moments, to feel the movement forward, to allow ourselves to absorb the experiences and lived moments gathered along the way?

Maybe we don’t always have something important to say.

Maybe sometimes creating is simply about beauty, gentleness, contemplation.

And at other times, the work becomes heavier, deeper, more unsettling.

Like a river that can be calm or turbulent, flowing gently or rushing through rapids.

Can an artist always exist outside their comfort zone?Can they be always vulnerable, always courageous, always ready to expose what comes from their deepest self?

Over time, I’ve come to realize that perhaps I’m not quite asking the right questions. Instead of wondering whether I should push myself further into discomfort, it might be more honest to ask whether I feel solid enough—here and now—to step outside my comfort zone.

Whether I have the energy to explore a project that destabilizes me, that asks me to be myself without filters, to share something more intimate.

And also to remember that I can always return to something more comfortable.

To replenish.

To regain strength.

So that I can later move back toward discomfort, with more steadiness.

This is not a failure in either direction. These are simply different choices, guided by different intentions.

Being in alignment is not about ease.

Nor is it about constant difficulty.

It is about intention—a commitment to a path that allows growth and unfolding. A way of moving forward with determination, honoring my limits while gently seeking to stretch them.

Perhaps the real question is simply:where can I be honest, today?