Why I Stopped Painting?

Every artist will tell you there is nothing quite like painting.

Holding a brush, mixing colors, searching for the perfect shade, watching an image slowly appear on canvas, it is almost a form of meditation. It takes you somewhere beyond everyday life. For me, painting was never just about creating an image. It was an experience. And yet, I stopped.

It's been almost two years since I've completed a traditional painting for myself. Instead, I have moved almost entirely into digital art. People often ask me why.

The answer is simple: I have dozens of paintings sitting in my house collecting dust.

As artists, we're often told that the goal is to sell our work. But for me, many of my paintings were never just products. They were pieces of my life. I'm not someone who remembers every detail of the past, but when I look at a painting I created years ago, I instantly remember how I felt that day. I remember what I was going through, whether I was happy or heartbroken, hopeful or lost. Every painting became a visual diary, a snapshot of my emotions and my journey through life. Selling those paintings sometimes felt like selling pieces of myself.

Of course, commissions were different. If someone asked me to paint a family portrait or create an abstract piece to match their living room, I could approach it professionally. I would paint it, deliver it, and move on. Those paintings belonged to the client from the beginning.

But the paintings I created alone, purely for myself, carried something deeper. They held memories, emotions, and fragments of who I was at that moment in time.

Without consciously deciding to, I slowly stopped creating traditional paintings.

Digital art changed everything for me.

It doesn't require storage space. I don't have to buy canvases, paints, brushes, mediums, or endless supplies. Most importantly, it allows me to capture an idea immediately, while the emotion is still fresh.

When inspiration strikes, I can open my tablet and begin creating within seconds. There is no preparation, no cleanup, and no interruption between feeling and expression.

And if someone falls in love with a digital piece, it can still live in the physical world. It can be printed on canvas, paper, posters, books, or anything else imaginable.

For me, digital art has become the modern extension of painting rather than a replacement for it. At the same time, my relationship with art has always been different from what many people expected.

During art school, some of my professors encouraged me toward fine art and conceptual work. Illustration was often viewed as something less serious, something commercial rather than artistic.

But illustration was where my heart always belonged.

I've never been interested in creating art that exists only to explain itself through theory. I don't want to place an object in a room and write a paragraph about why it represents the collapse of society. There is certainly value in conceptual art, but it isn't my language.

The world already contains enough darkness.

What draws me to art is imagination, wonder, innocence, and storytelling. That is why I love illustrating for children. Children still see magic where adults see limitations. They believe impossible things are possible. They create worlds, invent characters, and dream without embarrassment. Somewhere along the way, many adults lose that ability. I don't want to contribute to that loss. I want my art to protect imagination for as long as possible.

When I draw a character, create a story, or illustrate a children's book, I am helping keep that sense of wonder alive. To me, that is one of the greatest gifts art can offer.

The world can be difficult, complicated, and sometimes dark. But there are still beautiful things around us: nature, animals, the sky, water, and the limitless imagination of a child.

If my artwork can help someone hold onto that innocence a little longer, then I feel I am doing exactly what I was meant to do.

And perhaps that is the real reason I became an illustrator in the first place.