Painting traditionally is something I have shared both a loving, and anxious, relationship with since childhood.
I've always found it to incredibly calming, therapeutic, and satisfying. While other times anxiety stirs itself up over the paint drying too quickly, Not having an undo button, and the like.
But curious enough, I enjoy it for the very same reasons that produce frustration within me. I appreciate the way the medium works, that you have to work with it's needs to create what you'd like. I very much enjoy the relationship that must be formed to create a finished piece.
There's nothing quite like the feel of a wooden brush between your fingers, the sound of bristles against pressed cotton, or the smell of freshly mixed paint, and a vivid scene unfolding before your eyes.
Though I do take pride in my painted creations, I have a long way to go before I reach the skill level I desire. I find inspiration, and wisdom, and an incredible undying respect for the old masters of painting, and seasoned artists alike. It is they who give me a great energy and enthusiasm to work hard at what I do.