Art

Back in early March, after 93 days in comedy, Mercury went retrograde, and I hit a wall.

Before that, I was having a great time.

I really enjoyed going out several nights a week, taking the bus to North Beach to attend comedy classes and to perform at open mics. It was a great time in San Francisco, especially as the days grew longer as spring slowly arrived.

But getting involved in comedy, I soon found out, was pretty much a full-time job.

I really admired the younger comics and their dedication to build themselves a comedy career. But I already have a career, one that’s quickly coming to a close. And I discovered that I don’t really want to devote more time building another career – at least, not in comedy.

Much as I enjoyed writing jokes and building bits and putting together an act, my needing to devote several hours each night, all for only a few minutes on stage, really wore me out. Much as I enjoyed all that stage time, much as I enjoyed laughing at all the other comics, it really was exhausting.

So, once Mercury went retrograde, I did some serious reflection and decided to pull the plug on chasing the stand-up-comedy dream. Or, more likely, the Tao pulled the plug.

What the Tao givith, the Tao taketh away.

In place of comedy, the Tao has steered me back toward my amateur interest in art, sketching and painting with watercolors, a hobby I’ve explored for the past ten years.

Earlier this month, I started sketching and painting more frequently, and I’m glad I did.

Creating a painting in my sketchbook is like building a short comedy bit. Only, once I finish, I’m done! I can look at a sketch, feel good about my efforts, and it doesn’t require several hours every night waiting for five minutes on stage.

Instead, once I put down my pen and paint brush, I can post a sketch to Instagram and forget all about it. The process is complete. Then, when something else inspires me, I can sketch and paint something new.

Heck — the drama masks at the top of this post took less than an hour to complete.

So, at this point into my pre-retirement journey, I am happy to focus on art — a practice, I hope, that will accompany me into the future. I imagine myself, once fully retired, taking trips to different locales, taking art classes and/or just sketching what I see.

The sketchbook is a great companion, and I’m glad to have it around.

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PS: If you’re interested, you can travel through my ten years of art on Instagram at PapaGringoArt.

a pen-and-ink/watercolor sketch of an empty summer road in northern California. The two-lane yellow-striped road enters from the lower right and turns upward, passing long dried grass and the long cast shadows of several telephone poles, before it disappears over the nearby hill.

Everyone needs a hobby. Whether it’s working out at the gym, writing in a journal, tending a garden, or casting a fishing line into a stream, hobbies provide leisure and relaxation, especially for those who have recently transitioned out of the working world.

For me, I’ve found lots of relaxing pleasure when drawing and sketching with watercolor, an activity, I’ve found, that grounds me in the center of the Tao.

Flow Over Force

Watercolor teaches us to relinquish control. No matter how determined our egos may be to control the outcome of a painting, watercolor defies that control and, instead — guided by grace and fluidity — flows on its own terms, as if following its own will. Likewise, Taoism teaches us to harmonize with the natural order, to embrace surprise as an ally rather than repel it as a foe.

When painting with watercolor, each stroke is a surrender of control. We learn to adapt, to gently follow rather than impose. This dance with unpredictability is not weakness: It’s wisdom. Much like the Tao, watercolor reminds us that the soft overcomes the hard, that true freedom comes when abdicating control.

The Beauty of Impermanence

A watercolor sketch lives in the moment of creation. Its edges bleed; its colors fade. What begins with intention often ends with surprise. Taoist philosophy holds that everything is transient — like ripples in a stream or clouds passing overhead. With watercolor, impermanence is not a flaw but a virtue.

Each layer of paint dries differently, making each image unique, sui generis. An artist develops patience and humility, accepting that no intended mark will appear as intended. When completed, what remains is the spirit of the moment — a quiet reverence for the now, captured in pigment on paper.

Wu Wei in Practice

Of course, at the heart of Taoism is the concept of wu wei — the art of doing without doing. It’s not laziness, but alignment nature’s effortless flow. When applying watercolor, forcing the ego’s intention leads to muddiness; allowing things to unfold as they naturally unfurl reveals clarity and charm. A painter becomes a partner with the painted, not its maker.

Each wash of color is a meditation in non-interference. You mix, blend and brush — all without fuss. The result is often more honest than any planned outcome: It’s a surprise, a collaboration between intention and surrender. Rather than reward control, watercolor nurtures trust.

Harmony in Chaos

Watercolor thrives in the unpredictable. A splash lands off-center, a bloom spreads like mist — yet somehow, beauty emerges. Taoism sees chaos not as disorder, but as the fertile ground from which harmony blooms. When brushing on color, “accidents” become focal points, giving character and soul to a final image.

A happy watercolorist learns to welcome surprise, adjusting and adapting like a river that winds through rocky terrain. The painting process teaches that a sudden mess isn’t something to fear — it’s something to embrace, something to foster, an opportunity to discover the previously unforeseen.

Stillness in each Stroke

To paint with watercolor is to pause the world. Each stroke invites stillness — an awareness of brush, breath, and unfolding color. Taoist thought reveres quietude, seeing it as the root of insight and peace. In watercolor, distraction dulls the result, but presence sharpens the soul.

The rhythm of dipping, dabbing, and watching water glide becomes a slow dance with time. For many, early retirement is a time to dip and dabble and discover new things — some as big as a watercolor hobby, some as small as an unintended freckle on a watercolor portrait. Either way, the Tao takes the lead.

How About You?

What habits or hobbies do you plan to develop or already enjoy in retirement? Let me know in the comments.

Papa Gringo

Following the Tao

Funny Thing about the Tao

The Tao of Watercolor