six-day printmaking workshop in the colorful and beautiful town of Guanajuato

Printmaking studio in Guanajuato | February 2025

Printmaking Workshop in Guanajuato, Mx.

There’s a kind of idealism and romance in pursuing a life as an artist—following your heart's desire to write that book, try out for that play, or attend that artist residency. There’s safety in that space before diving in, where one can dream of all the potential in a fantasy world. But why don’t we do it? Why do we avoid picking up our instrument or paintbrush? Why do we make excuses? The reasons likely lie buried somewhere in our subconscious. But the short answer is fear.

I was fortunate enough to attend a six-day printmaking workshop in the colorful and beautiful town of Guanajuato, Mx, in the most dreamy studio—with large windows, delicious meals, and a master printer as my teacher (who also happens to be my father-in-law 😉). I had everything I needed: time, supplies, support, and a container to create. Now, it was up to me to meet the opportunity.

Before arriving, I was over the moon with excitement. I imagined myself in a creative flow, making art, and feeling joy and satisfaction. But instead, I met another part of myself during the workshop—one I didn’t expect. I met my impatience, my insecurities, and ultimately, my fears. What I want may not always be what I need. In that moment, I needed to face the fears and patterns keeping me safe and small—another layer of the proverbial onion.

At times, I felt restless and blocked. I wrestled with myself more than I anticipated. I doubted myself as an “artist.” Who do I think I am, anyway? I don’t deserve this privilege. How could I take myself seriously? It wasn’t until the final hours of the workshop that I finally slipped into creative flow, feeling excitement and satisfaction. But after sharing my work with the group, that all-too-familiar shrinking feeling crept in—the vulnerability of being seen.

There’s a vulnerability in being new at something. The truth is, I’m a beginner. I’m still learning the craft of printmaking and art-making. I didn’t go to art school; I’m self-taught. During the workshop, I was impatient with myself. I set expectations I couldn’t possibly meet, even though I knew better. I wasn’t being kind to myself. I was confronting the same old patterns of perfectionism and self-doubt.

Art demands honesty—it’s its only language. Maybe that’s what I love about it. You can see when you’re lying in your work—playing it safe, avoiding risks, and holding back. The art that inspires me is the kind that reveals the artist’s dedication to vulnerability, risk, truth, and pure expression. Authenticity in art speaks to me, regardless of the medium or level of craftsmanship. What moves me is not perfection but the artist’s willingness to stretch beyond what is safe and known.

When I surrender to the creative flow, it asks me to evolve. This is the natural rhythm of life—the tree growing, the flower blossoming. Everything moves toward what is true.

As I reflect on my time in the workshop, I see that I was confronted with something I needed to look at, my fear. I saw how childhood experiences, sustos (what we call in shamanic training the "events" that initiate a fear pattern), had shaped my life—including my relationship with art.

Making art is inherently vulnerable—if you’re taking risks and doing it wholeheartedly and honestly. Whenever something feels unsafe, the ego steps in to “help.” I experience this as a wall, a massive obstacle, with my deepest desires waiting on the other side. The ego whispers: You can’t do this. This is unsafe. Who do you think you are? You’ll fail. Art forces me to face these limiting beliefs head-on.

So, I am humbled. Because art-making isn’t just about fantasy and idealism—it’s about truth. It’s about showing up and doing the “work”. It’s about meeting yourself in the process. I’m not talking about craft-making. I’m talking about art-making.

When I got home and pulled out my prints, I realized I had created 22 prints in six days—a solid effort by the “quantity over quality” theory. Maybe one of them feels complete. Some are ready for more layers. Others might get torn up and repurposed into collages.

There’s a part of me that fiercely advocates for my artistic path. She’s determined, fiery, and wise. And then there’s another part—small, insecure, and afraid to claim this for myself. It’s a constant negotiation between these two voices. Ultimately, I will keep creating, setting deadlines, and showing up—because nothing feels more rewarding than expressing myself and exploring what is true.

I will keep meeting my fears and continue to peel back the many layers of the “onion”. I will walk myself through those deeper, more painful layers with even more compassion and self-love. I know I will continue to question myself and my ability. I’ll experience doubt and negative self-talk. And while I do, I’ll try to soften my heart when I see that all that fear is a finger pointing to something. And I will turn my gaze towards what it is my ego is protecting me from. And upon seeing it, I will let it break me open. I will be reluctant to feel the heartbreak, but I will bow to it. I will bow to my younger self out of reverence and respect for what she went through. I will apologize for being so hard on her when all she needed from me was to be a loving and safe presence for her.

I know this about myself: I long to understand things deeply, through the network and antennas of my heart; it is not cerebral or mental. For me, art is the medium and the language for what I know through those antennas of feeling, it is my home and the landscape I love to live in. So, even though I question it all the time, it’s where I belong, and that’s where you’ll find me, for better or worse ;)