I remember holding a brush and sitting in front of a blank sheet of rice paper. The bristles were raring to make their move as black ink shone in a dish. The teacher, who was calm but sure of herself, told us to “breathe.” Let the beat of your heart lead your brush. Lesson one: painting with ink isn’t only about technique; it’s also about knowing how to go back and forth between letting go and overthinking. Find more information here!

Don’t worry about making it flawless. That first mark is its own person. It moves across the paper, light and unpredictable, going against every plan. Your hand shakes, and lines stutter and break. Don’t freak out. Say hello to those strange bamboos and asymmetrical dragons. The best ink painters can turn mistakes into something beautiful and unexpected, like a stray line that becomes the wing of a crow or a windswept leaf.

Now, let’s talk about gear. The brush is both a dagger and a feather. The ink stone is strong and will wait for you to grind away your nerves. Water makes you want to do too much. If you use too much ink, your work will flood and bleed; if you don’t use enough, the brush will skip like a recalcitrant cart horse. It feels like you’re gripping damp sand and losing control.

Your first bamboo can seem like a carrot that got lost. Your willow may swing like a bunch of noodles. That’s okay! Every artist has to deal with a mix of happiness and anger. The finest advise doesn’t go on and on about how to hold the brush or do fancy wrist maneuvers. Here it is: stop. Watch the ink stretch and pull back, and the hairs divide and move. Spaces that look empty actually make the whole thing come to life.

Some people say a short prayer before they start. Some people play their favorite noise music really loud. I’ve done both. The secret? Find a ritual that fits your mood, whether you’re feeling defiant or calm. One time, while I was painting to a scratchy jazz record, my rough ocean waves started to discover their own rhythmic beat.

You’ll get angry. Let it wash over you. Some days, the ink just won’t work. Use newsprint or scrap paper instead. Sometimes all you can do is make dots that are all over the place or lines that move about. You don’t make a masterpiece; you just practice. But those times are important. Your brush gently writes down things that your memory would forget.

Look for ideas in your daily life. Watch the pigeon weave its way between the phone lines. Look at the shadows on your street. Those little things could become tomorrow’s painting. Bring along a little notebook, a receipt, or anything else that is useful. Whenever you can, make quick sketches. Use your free time to make covert art.

Put your mistakes and failures on the wall. Let them see. They convey your tale honestly, with daring first tries and stubborn restarts. Every splotch shows that a little disarray is good for art.

So, when you dip your pen back into ink, don’t think of great works of art. You can expect stains, surprises, and little bright spots in the muck. Let painting with ink be your way of saying no to clean lines and order. It’s time to let your creativity run free.