Courtney Naray

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Courtney Naray Watercolour Artist | Creative hobby collector | Certified mess-maker
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One of the scariest things about domestic violence is that someone can be in an abusive relationship for years or decade...
10/09/2026

One of the scariest things about domestic violence is that someone can be in an abusive relationship for years or decades without understanding what I happening to them.

How behaviours you once would have questioned slowly become part of your everyday life. How you learn to anticipate someone else’s behavior, question your own judgment, and make yourself smaller to keep the peace.

How you can experience something repeatedly without fully understanding what it is doing to you.

This Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I want to talk about the things we don’t always recognize as abuse.
And part of recognizing it is learning to identify the behaviours, patterns, and dynamics that you don't have the language for.

Not every experience looks the same. Not every behaviour exists by itself. And not every form of abuse leaves a visible mark.

Sometimes, the most insidious forms of control are the ones that gradually change how you see yourself, what you believe you deserve, and how much freedom you feel you have to simply exist as yourself.

Awareness begins with having the language to recognize in ourselves what we have been taught to minimize.

And sometimes, finding the words is where everything begins. đź’ś

10/07/2026

I think “art block” is rarely about the art.

Sometimes the thing standing between you and your creativity is a belief you learned a long time ago.

What’s practical.
What’s selfish.
What’s safe.
What you’re “supposed” to want.

So get curious.

Notice what happens in your body when you think about creating. Notice the resistance. The excuses. The reasons you keep putting it off.

Is there a pattern?

Can you trace it back to a memory, an interaction, or maybe a whole bunch of them?

Sometimes the answer is obvious.

Sometimes it’s something you’ve absorbed over years.

That your worth comes from what you accomplish.
That being a good woman, mother, or partner means putting everyone else first.
That wanting something just for yourself is selfish.
That creativity is a nice little hobby, but shouldn’t take up too much space.

You don’t need to have all the answers.

Just start asking better questions.

Pull on the threads.

See where they lead.

I can’t tell you where your creative path leads. I can only encourage you to start looking inward, asking better questions, and start clearing away whatever is keeping you from finding it.

09/30/2026

These are just some of the ways I've gotten in my own way.

The supplies hidden away and forgotten.
The inconvenience of not having a dedicated space to create.
The fear of wasting materials.
Feeling like the end result is the most important thing...
and the stories I told myself for years about who gets to call themselves an artist.

They all look a little different, but underneath, they're all the same thing. Self sabotage dressed up as practicality. Which is funny, because art is anything but practical.

I'm really curious about your experience with creative friction?

Are you aware that you have gotten in your own way?

Are your barriers similar to mine? Completely different?

Or do they all end up meaning the same thing?

09/28/2026

This is my childhood best friend, Pogo...In real life he's a soft, dusty brown. In this painting he's hot pink, purple and teal. 🧸

This isn't a masterpiece. It's a colour study, and honestly it's a little loud and the colours feel harsh and strange. It's not something most people would hang over their couch.

But painting him completely changed my relationship to colour...and painting a "safe" painting, wouldn't have given me such a massive shift.

Every piece you make is valuable, even the awkward ones. Especially the awkward ones.

When you show up to your art practice truly open to the process, you always walk away knowing something you didn't before, no matter how it turns out. Gathering those small moments of clarity is what shapes your practice into something that's uniquely yours.

Are you showing up to your art truly open, or are you only painting what's safe?

Curiosity and I have a complicated relationship.For as long as I can remember, I've felt out of step and out of place. W...
09/25/2026

Curiosity and I have a complicated relationship.

For as long as I can remember, I've felt out of step and out of place. What was easy for others felt impossible to me. What felt natural to me seemed to confuse everyone else.

Others would often say that I had my head in the clouds...that I didn't apply myself, or that I wasn't living up to my potential...but from the inside, it felt like a full fu***ng stop.

I couldn't make myself do something just because I was told to. I needed to understand why I was doing it. If the "why" didn't make sense to me, everything felt impossibly heavy.

(I'm still waiting for the day that parabolas add value to my life...but at this point I'm pretty sure they really are as useless to me as they felt in grade 11)

But give me something I cared about and I was gone. Hours disappeared. I stopped hearing my name. I looked longer, felt deeper, and went further than anyone expected me to.

Curiosity made me slow in places where speed and rigidity was rewarded, but relentless in places where wonder was allowed.

It still does. My mind rarely rests. "Good enough" never quite feels like enough. I'll chase an idea long after everyone else has moved on...even when I'm exhausted, even when it would be easier to let it go.

I spent a lifetime thinking that there was something inherently broken within me...but I'm starting to see it differently.

Curiosity is a compass.

It's the feeling of something lighting up inside me, a pull I can't explain but have learned to trust. It points me toward what's meaningful to me, even when it isn't what everyone else is doing.

It kept me moving when certainty wasn't available. It kept the creative motor running, even when I tried to shut it down. It's how I navigate change, and how I begin again. It's the thread connecting every version of me, from childhood to now.

It still gets me into trouble. 85 tabs open, 22,000 unread emails, three paintings started, another forgotten appointment.

It's restless. It's a lot to carry.

Some days it's the best part of me. Some days it's the hardest.

But every time I've followed it, it's brought me a little closer to myself.

Curiosity and I have a complicated relationship.For as long as I can remember, I've felt out of step and out of place. W...
09/25/2026

Curiosity and I have a complicated relationship.

For as long as I can remember, I've felt out of step and out of place. What was easy for others felt impossible to me. What felt natural to me seemed to confuse everyone else.

People would often say that I had my head in the clouds...that I didn't apply myself, or that I wasn't living up to my potential...but from the inside, it felt like a full fu***ng stop.

I couldn't make myself do something just because I was told to. I needed to understand why I was doing it. If the "why" didn't make sense to me, everything felt impossibly heavy.

(I'm still waiting for the day that parabolas add value to my life...but at this point I'm pretty sure they really are as useless to me as they felt in grade 11)

But give me something I cared about and I was gone. Hours disappeared. I stopped hearing my name. I looked longer, felt deeper, and went further than anyone expected me to.

Curiosity made me slow in places where speed and rigidity was rewarded, but relentless in places where wonder was allowed.

It still does. My mind rarely rests. "Good enough" never quite feels like enough. I'll chase an idea long after everyone else has moved on...even when I'm exhausted, even when it would be easier to let it go.

I spent a lifetime thinking that there was something inherently broken within me...but I'm starting to see it differently.

Curiosity is a compass.

It's the feeling of something lighting up inside me, a pull I can't explain but have learned to follow. It points me toward what's meaningful to me, even when it isn't what everyone else is doing.

It kept me moving when certainty wasn't available. It kept the creative motor running, even when I tried to shut it down. It's how I navigate change, and how I begin again. It's the thread connecting every version of me, from childhood to now.

It still gets me into trouble. 85 tabs open, 22,000 unread emails, three paintings started, another forgotten appointment.

It's restless. It's a lot to carry.

Some days it's the best part of me. Some days it's the hardest.

But every time I've followed it, it's brought me a little closer to myself.

🌸c

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Milton, ON

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