It Doesn’t Have to Be Perfect: Painting, Patience, and Life with MS
By John “CZ” Czwartacki
At the beginning of MS awareness month, I’m sharing a new habit I picked up. Much like my ongoing, weekly meeting with my MS happiness support group, it’s also very therapeutic for me physically and spiritually.
A few months back (in November of 2025), I began oil painting for the first time. I always wanted to try something like this, but my blessed life had other ideas: jobs that were beyond busy, a growing family — including our four active sons (yes, my wife is a saint), and the challenge of an ever-changing disease like multiple sclerosis (MS). I am grateful for the twists and turns that brought me to where I am today, but they pushed painting to the back burner.
MS has been a constant companion since I was diagnosed in 1993, changing the way I lived, earned a living, and played. The random symptoms popping up on my MS bingo card remind me what I can do, and to let go of what I can’t.
On top of the breakthrough treatments that saved the life I am blessed by, I find celebrating former abilities and experiences is some of the best medicine available. I try hard to smile at what I did instead of ruminating on what was lost, and most importantly, try to make the best of every day.
Enter painting.
For no obvious reason, I bought myself an easel and a starter kit of colors. I could never draw, and never even had much interest in the creative arts. MS made even my handwriting illegible, so why would I want to take a class or even watch a “how-to” video?
Despite this, one day, I just started painting. It’s not important to me if my creations look like anything in particular or whether they’re “good;” that’s not the point. The point is they’re good for me.
The oil dries slowly, which allows me to wipe off unwanted marks or choose to let them be and watch what they might become. This process also forces me to be patient as layers dry before I add new colors or shapes over top.
I like painting because it reminds me that things can appear to go “wrong” or feel “off” and still become something beautiful with time and perspective.
My favorite experience occurs when I see a story, a lyric, or when my unsteady gestures are transferred onto canvas. I can admire the master artist and photorealistic paintings, but knowing that they are definitely not my thing. I am happy to create something abstract that conveys how I am feeling, regardless of how it turns out.
I like big fields of color and how they interact with each other. I like having a plan for one outcome and having the paint, or even a brush stroke, tell me it’s something else. I like lifting veils on feelings that I didn’t even know were there. I like how my brain, which normally is jumping from branch to branch, gets fixated and zoned in. Whether it be on a cloud, on mixing a color, or wiping in a shadow or texture, it puts me in a place where there is no time, no noise, no disease.
I really like the permission it gives to make a mess: splattering on the canvas or drop cloth, getting paint on my beard, and wiping brushes on my pants. It’s fun to find joy in messiness.
So, to mark MS awareness month, I will share my experiment. Painting allows me to practice with what I see every day — light and shadows and the memories of things seen or just dreamed. It allows me to transfer them into something else. It doesn’t matter if anyone else likes them. It’s for my soul. And it is good for me.
Everybody — including patients — should find joy for themselves in the messiness of life.
Check out some of my work below:
