Rebecca Barraclough

Before I ever opened an eLearning authoring tool or learned the language of adult learning theory, I was a kid with a watercolor set and a lot of time on my hands. Art was the first place where I learned how to express myself when words didn’t come easily. In fact, when I moved to a small town in Canada at age eight, I couldn’t speak English at all. But I could paint. And in that silence, with brushes and paper, I found a way to connect, to process, and to make sense of the world around me.

Today, as an instructional designer and learning strategist, I find myself returning to the lessons I first learned through painting. Instructional design is, at its core, a creative practice. And just like art, it’s about more than creating something beautiful—it’s about creating something that resonates.

Start with a Blank Canvas

One of the first things I learned in painting is that a blank page isn’t empty—it’s full of potential. But to unlock that potential, you have to understand what story you want to tell.

The same is true in instructional design. Every learning experience begins with a question: What does the learner truly need to know, feel, or do by the end? Before diving into software or content outlines, I take a step back and consider the full picture. Who are the learners? What barriers do they face? What context are they coming from?

Like sketching out a composition before applying color, I map the learning journey—what’s foundational, what builds upon it, and where the challenges might arise. Art taught me that structure doesn’t kill creativity. In fact, it gives creativity direction.

Color, Contrast, and Clarity

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received about painting was to always step back from your work. When you’re too close to the canvas, you can miss the big picture—the balance of colors, the contrast, and whether the image feels cohesive.

Instructional design works the same way. I’ve built many programs over the years, from onboarding toolkits to role-based enablement for sales and healthcare teams. Sometimes, when I’m deep in the details—writing microcopy, designing knowledge checks, tweaking layouts—it’s easy to forget to zoom out. But stepping back helps me ask: Is this experience intuitive? Is the message clear? Does the flow feel natural?

Just like in painting, contrast matters. In learning design, contrast comes through pacing, tone, and variety. If everything feels the same, nothing stands out. So I look for opportunities to shift gears—maybe an emotional story to anchor a technical module, or a moment of humor to balance out dense content. Art taught me that contrast isn’t just visual—it’s emotional, too.

Let the Learner Be the Artist

One of the most beautiful things about creating art is that no two people interpret it exactly the same way. You can offer a shared experience, but every viewer brings their own lens. That same principle has shaped how I design learning.

Rather than trying to control every aspect of the learner’s journey, I create opportunities for exploration and self-direction. I use real-world scenarios, reflection prompts, and open-ended questions to invite learners to make meaning for themselves. When I build training, I don’t want people to just consume content—I want them to interact with it, challenge it, and see where it fits in their lives.

Art taught me to honor the subjectivity of experience. Instructional design taught me how to support that subjectivity with structure and intention.

Mistakes Are Part of the Process

Every artist has ruined a painting or two (or twenty). I’ve spilled water on sketches, overworked colors until they turned muddy, and carved too deep into a linoleum block more times than I can count. And I’ve done the same in my professional life—launched programs that didn’t land, designed content that missed the mark, and assumed too much about learners’ needs.

But here’s the thing: every mistake has made me better. In art, you learn to embrace the mess. You learn that progress isn’t always linear and that revisions are not a sign of failure—they’re a part of the creative process.

As an instructional designer, that perspective has helped me stay agile and resilient. I design, test, get feedback, and iterate. I stay open to learning, even as I teach others. And I’ve come to value process over perfection.

Creativity Is a Discipline

Sometimes people think creativity means being spontaneous and carefree. But anyone who paints or designs or writes knows: creativity is also discipline. It’s sitting down even when you don’t feel inspired. It’s practicing your craft, refining your voice, and learning new tools.

The same is true in instructional design. Learning science, accessibility, platform constraints, business needs—all of these act as the frame around our creative work. But within that frame, there’s room for artistry. For thoughtfulness. For joy.

That blend of structure and expression is where I feel most at home.

Where These Worlds Meet

Today, I still paint. I still carve linocuts and get ink under my nails. It’s a part of my life that stays personal, restorative, and grounded. But more and more, I see how much it overlaps with my professional world. Whether I’m mentoring a new instructional designer or leading a change initiative, I carry my artist’s mindset with me.

Art taught me how to observe carefully, to communicate without words, to trust process, and to stay open to surprise. Instructional design gave me the tools to turn that intuition into something that helps others grow.

For me, they’re not separate paths. They’re different expressions of the same thing: creating something meaningful, one thoughtful stroke at a time.