The Turtle's Guide to Making Art: Why Slowing Down Is the Secret Ingredient
The Turtle's Guide to Making Art: Why Slowing Down Is the Secret Ingredient
Okay, real talk — I've always felt a little personally represented by the turtle. Not just because of the whole TurtleGirl76 thing (though, yes, obviously), but because I genuinely believe there is something deeply powerful about moving at your own pace. And nowhere has that philosophy changed my life more than in how I approach making art.
We live in a world where a 15-second Reel can rack up a million views, where AI can generate a fully rendered painting in seconds, and where Instagram artists seem to churn out jaw-dropping work every single day. It's... a lot. And for a long time, I let that pressure convince me that my slow, imperfect sketchbook doodles weren't worth sharing — or even doing.
Spoiler alert: I was completely wrong.
The Problem With Speed-Running Your Creativity
Here's what nobody tells you when you're doom-scrolling through gorgeous digital art at 11pm: most of those creators have years of practice behind them. What you're seeing is the highlight reel, not the hundreds of messy sketchbook pages that got them there. When we compare our behind-the-scenes to everyone else's finished product, we set ourselves up to feel like failures before we even pick up a pencil.
Beyond the comparison trap, there's another issue — rushing through art actually robs you of the best parts of it. When you're racing to finish something, you're not really seeing what you're drawing. You're not noticing the way light hits the edge of a coffee mug, or how the shadows under a leaf create this whole tiny world of their own. Speed is the enemy of observation, and observation is basically the entire foundation of making good art.
I learned this the hard way after spending months trying to keep up with digital trends — buying every app, watching every tutorial, trying to crank out polished pieces fast. I was burned out and, honestly, kind of miserable. Then one rainy Saturday I dug out an old sketchbook and a beat-up mechanical pencil, sat by the window, and just drew the houseplants on my windowsill for two hours. No timer. No posting. No pressure.
I felt like myself again.
What "Slow Art" Actually Looks Like
Slow art isn't about being bad at art or lacking ambition. It's about being present with the process. Think of it like the difference between inhaling fast food in your car and sitting down for a long, leisurely dinner with people you love. Same basic activity, completely different experience.
In practice, slow art can look like:
- Sketching from life rather than photos or references — your coffee cup, your cat, the view from your back porch
- Watercolor journaling, where you paint your day in loose, impressionistic little scenes
- Blind contour drawing, where you draw without looking at your paper (it looks hilarious and teaches you SO much)
- Doodling with no agenda — just patterns, shapes, and whatever your hand feels like making
None of these require talent. They require only time and a willingness to be a beginner, which, by the way, is a beautiful thing to be.
Beginner-Friendly Tips to Actually Stick With It
Start tiny. Seriously, a five-minute sketch is better than a never-started masterpiece. I keep a small 3.5x5 sketchbook in my bag specifically so I have zero excuses. Waiting in line at the coffee shop? Draw the person in front of you (discreetly, obviously).
Ditch the eraser for a while. I know, I know — it sounds terrifying. But committing to your lines, even the wobbly ones, forces you to slow down and think before you mark. It also makes your sketchbook feel less precious and more like a practice space.
Set a vibe, not a goal. Instead of sitting down to "draw something good," sit down to "spend 20 minutes drawing." That tiny reframe takes the pressure off and makes the whole thing feel more like self-care than homework.
Date your pages. I started doing this a couple years ago and it's genuinely one of my favorite things. Flipping back through a sketchbook and seeing the date on a page brings back the whole memory of that afternoon — what I was thinking about, what music was playing, what season it was. It turns your sketchbook into a kind of diary.
My Favorite Analog Tools That Spark Actual Joy
Part of the magic of slow art is the physicality of it. There's something about holding a real pencil or dipping a brush into real paint that a screen just can't replicate. Here are the tools that genuinely make me excited to sit down and create:
Staedtler Mars Lumograph Pencils — These are silky smooth and come in a great range of hardness. I use a 2H for light sketching and a 4B when I want rich, dark lines. They're affordable and last forever.
Leuchtturm1917 Sketchbook — Slightly more journal-y than a traditional sketchbook, and I love it for that reason. The paper is sturdy enough for light watercolor washes and the dot-grid pages are chef's kiss for someone who can't draw a straight line freehand.
Pentel Aquash Water Brushes — These are game-changers for watercolor journaling on the go. You fill the barrel with water, and the brush stays ready to use. Pair them with a small Koi watercolor travel set and you've got a complete studio in your pocket.
Micron Pens (size 01 and 05) — For when I want to go over a pencil sketch with ink. The lines are clean and permanent, and they don't bleed or feather. Also, there is something deeply satisfying about inking a drawing. Like putting a bow on a gift.
Mildliner Highlighters — Not technically "art supplies," but I use these to add soft pops of color to journal spreads. The dual-tip design is incredibly versatile and the muted color palette feels so much more sophisticated than regular highlighters.
The Turtle Wins Again
Here's the thing about Aesop's fable that I think people miss: the turtle didn't win because the hare was lazy. The turtle won because it stayed focused, kept moving, and didn't waste energy worrying about anyone else's pace. That's the art practice I want. That's the creative life I'm building.
You don't need a viral following, a Wacom tablet, or a perfectly curated feed to be an artist. You just need a few tools you love, a little bit of time, and the willingness to slow down enough to actually see the world around you.
So grab a sketchbook. Make something messy. Take your sweet, turtle-paced time.
I promise it's worth it. 🐢
