A little over a year ago I started my first 100 days project. In essence, a 100 days project is simply doing something creative for 100 days either as a stand-alone project or in service of some larger goal. Committing to a 100 days project is meant to provide motivation and structure, while the specific goals and rules of each project are made up by the creator as they see fit. 

The project I set out for myself was to paint a 2” x 2” painting each day. I had three goals:

1. Gain confidence in color mixing
2. Build more control over my brush skills
3. Develop a lasting habit of regular painting

In order to make it through the full 100 days it’s important to design a supportive process in addition to selecting a realistic final project. I’m a big fan of constraints, that is, limiting the options available. Taking away analysis paralysis helps promote creative problem solving, focus your work, and propels you past the planning stage straight to the making stage. 

The parameters for the paintings I gave myself were:

• I would paint on watercolor paper
• I could only paint something I could see outside my window
• I could only use acrylic gouache
• I could only use a ½” brush

I also made sure my workspace was always ready for me. I chose to paint in the morning. Not only was it a positive way to start the day, but it was also the only time I knew I could consistently reserve for painting. My palette, brushes, water dish, and box of paints were out on the table the night before. I precut the 2” squares of paper from larger sheets in batches. It was essential that the time investment in the set up and clean up each day was minimal. 

So how did I do?

I achieved all my goals! It was rewarding to see my little pile of paintings grow as well as the growth in skill comparing the bottom of the stack to the top. 

Since making this collection, I have felt more confident working with colors on subsequent paintings. This is for two reasons. First, I learned how to make the colors I was seeing from the paints I had. In winter, Vancouver is predominantly blue. Green blues, grey blues, cyan, desaturated ultramarine. They’re all there and constantly in flux. None of them come straight from the tube. Second, I worked on my understanding of color relativity. Color relativity is the effect one color has on your perception of an adjacent color. So a color that may look like a warm grey in one context could look like a dark teal in another, exclusively because of the other colors around it. Understanding color relatively and how to use it is essential for providing depth in low contrast areas and making colors pop where you want them to. And it feels like magic.

My control over the detail and nuance of what I was painting improved throughout the project. Something clicked around day 20 and steady improvement continued thereafter. 

For the most part I have stuck with the habit of doing creative work in the morning. It may not always be panting, but I do start my day with something creative most of the time. 

What was unexpected?

I was surprised by how much time some of the paintings took. As I gained more control over my brushwork I really got into the nittiest, grittiest details. Being too detail oriented is something I’m conscientious of. When designing the project I thought the small scale would compel me to simplify the representation, but my proclivity for the minutia reigned supreme. This compulsion definitely encouraged me to improve my brush control, so I’m grateful for that, but I definitely yearn for the confidence in making quick, vibrant marks. For me, this project ultimately wasn’t set up to develop that skill. 

While developing technical skills was the primary motivator for starting this project, one of the things I came to appreciate most was how much time I spent observing. Vancouver is stunning. The atmosphere and light changes dramatically throughout the day and across a season. Sometimes English Bay is black, other times it’s green, or pink, or striped. The North Shore Mountains are a flat monolith in some conditions, but in others you can see every tree and valley. Clouds can show how vast the Lower Mainland is, or they can shroud the city in an intimate blanket of glowing light. Downtown is often grey, green, and sandstone, but for a short time in the evening the whole skyline can be unnaturally bright gold when the sun hits just right.

Whenever I share this project with someone I am always amused to learn which painting jumps out to them. Some are attracted to the subject, or the color, or the framing, but the selected painting always seems to be different from person to person. Some like earlier ones and some like later ones. For me the take away from this is to just make and keep making. It’s important to appreciate the process and enjoy what you’re doing because that’s how you will make your best work, i.e. work that is rewarding for you. You never know what is going to resonate with someone else or why. 

Why was I able to successfully complete my project?

From my previous experience painting and knowing how I like to work, I was able to design the project in a way that was clear and easy enough to stick to for me. Every now and then I would fall behind by a day or two but I was able to adjust the complexity of scenes I chose so I could catch up. The third quarter was the hardest. It was the dead of winter and the project had become a bit tiresome. The robust process I had carried me though because painting first thing in the morning was automatic at that point. I stuck with it and once I broke into the last quarter I was re-energized by knowing I would complete my goal. 

Would I do another one or recommend someone else do one?

Definitely! The conceptual structure of a 100 days project is helpful for reflecting on how to improve something in a flexible, actionable way. Having 100 attempts at something means not only will you get a sufficient amount of practice to see improvement, but no singular attempt needs to be precious because you’ll just do it again the next day. 

If I were to do another one, I would probably do something more minimalist to help me resist my tendency to get too detailed. Since working small didn’t help with that, I would define the project in a way that made a more minimal approach the focus of the exercise. That might be something like rendering an object or scene in the fewest number of strokes required to capture its essence and nothing more.

If you’ve never done anything like this before the best advice is to be adaptable. Learning what does and doesn’t work for you and why is hugely valuable, perhaps even more valuable than the material product you produce in the end. If something isn’t working, figure out why, make adjustments, and carry on.