Apparently, my left hand has more purposes than only food holding while I paint. The first lesson is that one. The teacher tossed a brush, some highly recommended ink painting lessons, and—get this—rice paper. Like a magician’s apprentice about to create something out of nothing. The first strike made me scream. It resembled a nervous caterpillar more than the graceful bamboo stem I had in mind. Three seats away, someone started to chuckle. I started to laugh at myself.

Then, though, came the best “mistake” of the day. Theink bled. dissemination. Slayed. My first panic evolved into fascination. Not managing every tiny thing gives one a crazy feeling of freedom. Grinning, the teacher labeled it “embracing the flow.” That phrase really stuck. Ink painting apparently is not about accuracy. It’s about let-off. My high school math teacher would faint if he knew I would find that idea appealing.

Blending in among the seasoned artists first made one uncomfortable. Some people used the same elegance when cleaning their brushes as a conductor waving a baton. I had ink on my elbows, on the other hand. Your jeans. My left eyebrow went up. Still, none of anyone gave a damn. The mess was included in the entertainment value. Another kid murmured, “Don’t overanalyze it.” Let the brush to dance. To be honest, best advice I received that afternoon.

The procedure moves in a rhythm. Dip, sketch, exhale. Look; change. I came to see forms in errors. A line meant for a tree became the rear of a bird’s. A fallen splotch developed into a pond. The artwork was suddenly speaking for itself, and I was merely traveling with it. Like seeing clouds and spotting dragons or puppies in the sky. Every layer unveiled surprises.

Fingers stained at the end, I understood: the painting wasn’t meant to be a picture. It was sentiment, ink, and lucky mistakes. Letting the brush decide on choices you never would have considered brings actual delight. It is the artistic equivalent of puddle jumping.

Thus, do it if you ever get the opportunity to enroll in an ink painting class. Donate old clothing to others. Bring your naturally curious nature. And ready your sense of humor for a few wild ink excursions. You will have a completely fresh perspective on clutter as magic, not just a piece of paper as you walk away.