Painting a Monochromatic Sailboat in Rough Waters: A Mini Watercolor Adventure

One Color, One Tiny Canvas, Zero Comfort Zone

I don't normally paint the ocean. So when I decided to do a mini sailboat-in-rough-waters painting on a four-by-six block, I was stepping well outside my usual territory. But that's part of the fun, right?

For this entire piece, I primarily used just one color: Daniel Smith Lunar Blue. I love it because it granulates beautifully — you get this gorgeous turquoise on one end of the spectrum and a moody, indigo-black on the other. It's the kind of paint that does a lot of the storytelling for you.

Why I Used So Much Paint (And Why That's Okay)

You'd think a four-by-six painting wouldn't need much paint. You'd be wrong — at least in this case. I went through several generous squeezes from the tube, which can feel scary when you're working with artist-grade watercolor. It's not cheap, and that little voice in the back of your head starts whispering "you're wasting it."

But here's what I keep coming back to: watercolor is only wasted if it stays in the tube. What matters is the learning and the effect you're going for. If that means squeezing out more than feels comfortable, do it.

The Challenge of Painting Water on a Mini Surface

My approach was to start with a very wet, diluted wash for the sky and then go in thick — almost straight tube paint — in the foreground, introducing water gradually to create movement and texture. This technique works beautifully on larger paper where the paint and water have room to breathe.

On a four-by-six block? It's a lot trickier. I tilted the painting, let it rest, tilted it again. I used a size eight synthetic mimic round brush specifically because it doesn't hold too much water — I needed control, but still wanted that soft, fluid feel.

A Birthday Present, an Experiment, and a Happy Accident

For a little extra sparkle, I pulled out an iridescent pearl-icy-blue ink that I'd received as a birthday gift two years ago and had never opened. Once it hit the paper, it pushed all the watercolor out of its way and created this stunning, almost magical effect.

But — and this is the honest part — it pushed too much of the watercolor away. I had to go back in and rework areas. I also added some granulation fluid to coax even more texture out of the paint, and at one point I flipped the entire painting upside down so the water could drift into the sky like sea spray.

Hindsight being 20/20: I probably should have left it alone at that stage. It was already pretty great. But that's also how you learn.

Painting the Sailboat Without a Sketch

Once everything dried, I brought in the sailboat using white gouache. I had a reference image nearby — I see sailboats from my house all the time, but always from the side, so I needed a reference for the front angle.

For one side of the hull, I used gouache. For the other, I used a lifting technique — a damp brush pulling pigment back off the paper. This only works if you know your paint well. Lunar Blue lifts beautifully, especially on hot press paper, so I could rely on that.

My reference image had the sail facing the opposite direction, but it didn't feel right for the flow of the painting. So I flipped it. This is exactly why I don't sketch first. If I had committed to a sketch based on my reference photo, the sail would've been facing the wrong way for the composition, and all those gorgeous spontaneous textures might not have fit naturally with the subject.

Why I Never Sketch First

Working without a sketch forces flexibility. When I let the paint lead — especially with a loose, granulating wash like this one — the subject has to adapt to the painting, not the other way around. It allows everything to flow together organically.

Midway through this piece, I was actually considering painting a lighthouse instead of a sailboat. That's the kind of freedom you get when you haven't committed to a concept on paper first.

For the mast, I stamped a palette knife into wet paint and pressed it quickly onto the paper. Simple, fast, and it worked perfectly.

What I Took Away From This Mini Painting

Painting something outside your comfort zone — a stormy ocean, a monochromatic palette, a tiny surface — teaches you things that staying safe never will. This piece pushed me on water control, texture, value contrast, and knowing when to stop (a lesson I'm still learning, clearly).

If you've been hesitant to experiment, let this be your nudge. Grab a color you love, a small piece of paper, and just go. The worst that happens is you learn something.