How Sensitivity Shapes My Art

Exploring the connection between heightened awareness and artistic expression.

Hello there,

I recently found myself lost in thought, reflecting on how my inner world influences the art I create.

It got me thinking about something I've been wanting to share with you.

You know how some of us pick up on things others don't? Like walking into a room and immediately feeling the mood, or noticing tiny details that everyone else seems to miss? I’m that person.

Growing up, I thought I was broken. “Too sensitive”, they said. But now, I see it differently.

A few years ago, sitting in my therapist's office, recovering from a deep depression that had nearly swallowed me whole, he said something that changed everything:

"Have you ever heard of highly sensitive people?"

My entire life reframed itself. I wasn't too much. I wasn't flawed. I was simply tuned differently. Like a radio picking up frequencies others couldn't hear.

My sensitivity suddenly became my superpower.

My developed sense of observation comes in handy when I'm drawing, but there’s more. I'm not just trying to make my paper look like the thing in front of me. I'm trying to translate all those invisible feelings and details into something visible.

That intricate network of leaf veins isn't just botanical accuracy—it's nature's map of resilience and flow. Those subtle variations in a butterfly's wing aren't just pretty patterns—they're evidence of impossible precision, of beauty that exists whether anyone notices or not.

Of course, this same sensitivity that lets me spend three hours blissfully absorbed in drawing a butterfly wing is the same one that makes me want to hide under a blanket during a thunderstorm or spend extra time alone after a gathering. Bright lights, crowds, too much noise, it all hits differently when your nervous system is finely tuned.

But here's what I'm learning: the same "too much" that overwhelms me in chaotic places becomes "just right" when I'm sitting quietly with nature or alone working on a drawing.

If you're reading this and thinking, "Oh, this sounds familiar," I want you to know something. That sensitivity you might have been told to tone down? The way you notice things others miss? The depth of feeling that sometimes feels like too much?

That's not a flaw—it's a feature.

Maybe you express it through art, maybe through writing, maybe just in the thoughtful way you move through the world. But that ability to perceive the layers most people walk right past? The world needs that. We need people who notice the overlooked details, who feel the emotional weight of color and texture, who can point out the beauty hiding in plain sight.

In a world that's always rushing, always looking for the big and flashy, there's something radical about spending hours drawing every detail of a butterfly wing. It's like making a quiet argument for paying attention, for slowing down enough to really see.

And when someone connects with that drawing later, this little bridge is created between invisible and visible, between one person's deep seeing and another's recognition.

I'm curious, do you have moments like this? Times when your sensitivity reveals something beautiful that was hiding right there all along?

Maybe it's not visual like mine. Maybe you hear layers in music others miss, or pick up on the emotional landscape of a room, or notice the way words fit together in ways that create little sparks of meaning.

I'd love to hear about those moments. There's something powerful about recognizing we're not alone in experiencing the world in high definition.

Until next time,

xo, Isabelle

P.S. I posted a video on my YouTube channel on how sensitivity informs my art. You can watch it here.