I’ve often found, when I’m deeply immersed in creating art, that I enter a space similar to the mindset I’ve experienced in Japanese martial arts. A phrase from Kenjutsu always comes to mind: enzan no metsuke — “gazing at the far mountain.” It’s about seeing without staring, taking everything in without focusing on any one thing, yet somehow noticing more.
In that space, time seems to slow. Movement, colour, and energy become clearer. But unlike martial arts, where the gaze is used to size up an opponent, in art we’re looking to understand — to connect with the subject and all its subtleties.
There’s something powerful about slowing down and really looking. Not just glancing, but noticing. For artists — and for anyone who takes the time to observe — this kind of looking becomes more than a skill. It’s a form of mindfulness.
We all look at things every day. But how often do we actually see them?
Artists tend to develop a different kind of gaze. One that lingers. One that picks up the purple hidden in a grey cloud or the kaleidoscope inside ocean green. It’s not about being “talented.” It’s about paying attention.
Georgia O’Keeffe captured it perfectly: “Nobody sees a flower really; it is so small… We haven’t time, and to see takes time.” That resonates. Slowing down to really see takes effort — and in a world that rushes by, it can feel almost rebellious.
It’s meditative. When we look at something with intention — a person, a leaf, an ant going about its business, or the way a tree’s shadow stretches across a wall — the noise fades. Time stretches. Things come into sharper focus.
And it doesn’t require silence. It can happen in the middle of a shopping centre or in standstill traffic, as long as we’re focused. That act of really seeing — even briefly — changes how we feel. We don’t need to make anything polished or perfect. Just observing is enough. It brings us into the present. It settles the breath.
When I look at the ocean — draw or paint it, watch its motion — I’m not just taking in its shape or surface. I’m tuning into its mood, its rhythm, its tone. It’s like I’m listening with my eyes.
And it’s not just the ocean. People, trees, buildings, even a crumpled jacket — they all have something to say if we’re willing to slow down and listen. The way wind moves a tree, the changing colour of light through a window — they tell quiet stories we’d otherwise miss.
This kind of looking becomes a form of empathy. A way of connecting without needing words.
The more we practise it, the more it filters into daily life. Standing at the side of a road after rain, we might catch reflections in puddles. Or notice how a building’s shadow stretches as the sun dips. The world begins to feel richer, more layered.
It’s like discovering a hidden sense — one that shows us what’s always been there, waiting.
And it doesn’t stay in our studio. This way of seeing seeps into conversations, relationships, routines. We might notice subtle shifts in someone’s voice or the feeling behind their words, their intonation. All because we’ve learned to slow down and pay closer attention.
There’s a kind of ritual in art-making, even before we begin. The gentle sharpening of pencils. The choice of paper or mixing of paints. The quiet moment before the hand moves — when our eyes scan and our mind settles.
Sometimes we create something finished. Sometimes we don’t. Often, it’s enough just to be with what we’re observing. That moment where the eyes, the hand, and the world connect — that’s where mindfulness lives.
In a world fuelled by speed and constant distraction, choosing to observe — to really observe — is both rare and powerful. It grounds us. It connects us. It brings us back to ourselves.
And the best part? We don’t need to be artists to practise this kind of looking. It’s available to all of us. It just takes a bit of patience, a willingness to pause, and an openness to what we might see.
The world is full of things waiting to be seen — not just looked at. All we have to do is slow down, and look.
Guy McGowan
WASA representative in Durban, KwaZulu-Natal & Chairperson of North Coast Artists, KwaZulu-Natal.