The journey of miniature painting is both rewarding and challenging, and every painter experiences moments of satisfaction balanced by periods of frustration. The process begins long before the first brush touches the model. It starts with the decision to sit down at the paint desk, to carve out time for creativity, and to dedicate focus to a small but meaningful task. The experience of painting Ann the Nun captures this moment of dedication perfectly. The model was more than just a piece of plastic to cover with paint; it became a test of skill, patience, and perseverance.
One of the first important steps in painting any miniature is sealing it with varnish once the work is done. This stage may feel optional to newcomers, but it is crucial for anyone who wants their models to withstand handling, gaming sessions, and the occasional accidental fall. In this case, the first attempt at varnishing left the miniature looking shiny, which can be disheartening after spending hours carefully painting. The reflective surface can make details hard to see and give the model an unnatural finish. The solution turned out to be surprisingly simple: shaking the varnish thoroughly before applying it. Just like paint, varnish separates over time, and without proper mixing, the final coat will not behave as expected. This was a valuable lesson learned — not just about varnish, but about the importance of preparation in every stage of miniature painting.
Once the varnish issue was resolved, the painter was left to reflect on the model itself. Ann the Nun, like many character miniatures, presented unique challenges. The face was one of the first elements to stand out as a difficult area. Faces on miniatures are famously tricky because they are so small and yet so expressive. A well-painted face can bring a miniature to life, imbuing it with emotion and presence on the table. A poorly painted face, on the other hand, can distract the viewer and diminish the overall effect of the model. In this case, the painter was not completely satisfied with the face, which is a common struggle. It takes time to learn how to place highlights on the cheeks, where to add shadows under the eyes, and how to dot in pupils without making the miniature look cross-eyed or startled.
The cloak was another challenging area. Cloaks and large pieces of fabric are opportunities to practice smooth highlighting and shading. Ideally, the folds of the cloak should show a gradient of light to dark that suggests volume and motion. For many painters, this is where blending skills are tested. It is easy for the transitions between highlight and base color to look abrupt, creating a layered effect rather than a smooth shift. The painter tried to use glazes to smooth these transitions, which is one of the most common and effective techniques for this purpose. A glaze is a very thin, translucent layer of paint applied over the transition area to gently blend the two colors. The difficulty lies in achieving the right consistency. If the glaze is too thick, it will cover too much of the underlying color and undo the work done on highlights. If it is too thin, it may not deposit enough pigment to have an effect.
Another element of experimentation on this model was the attempt to make the weapons more visually interesting. Weapons, particularly swords and blades, are perfect places to experiment with light effects. The painter used glazes to darken areas near the hilt and along the lower half of the blade, creating the impression of light reflecting unevenly across the surface. This is a step toward more advanced techniques like non-metallic metal painting, where an artist simulates the reflective properties of metal using only flat paints. Even if the effect was subtle, the attempt represents growth and exploration of new skills.
Edge highlighting was another technique attempted for the first time on this miniature. Edge highlighting involves carefully running a lighter shade of the base color along the sharpest edges of the miniature to create contrast and make the details pop. This is a technique often used on armor, weapons, and mechanical models, but it can also be used on fabric or leather to enhance definition. It requires a steady hand and good brush control, and first attempts are rarely perfect. The painter reflected that perhaps a brighter color could have been chosen for the highlights to make them stand out more. This is an important insight because miniature painting is all about contrast — the ability to make shapes readable at a distance by using light and dark tones effectively.
In the end, the model may not have turned out exactly as envisioned, but it will still look good on the table. This is an important point for many painters to remember. Not every model has to be a masterpiece. Some models are experiments, some are stepping stones, and all of them contribute to the improvement of skill over time. The process is as valuable as the result. Each model teaches something new, whether it is about varnish consistency, color choice, glazing technique, or the importance of edge highlights.
This stage of the journey is about laying a foundation — learning to trust the process, to be patient with mistakes, and to be willing to try new things. The painter has already started to push boundaries by experimenting with techniques they had never used before. These first attempts might not be perfect, but they set the stage for greater confidence and better results on future miniatures. As with any art form, growth comes from repetition, reflection, and a willingness to accept imperfection as part of the process.
The story of Ann the Nun is not just about one model; it is about developing a mindset of continuous learning. Every struggle with the face, every uneven highlight on the cloak, every too-subtle glaze is a clue that leads to improvement. The next model will be better because of these lessons. The varnish will be properly shaken, the faces will get more attention and refinement, the glazes will be smoother, and the edge highlights will be more confident. Over time, these incremental improvements add up, and what once felt like a struggle becomes second nature.
Exploring Color Variety and the Art of Painting the Undead
Moving on from Ann the Nun, the focus shifts toward a new challenge: a group of zombies waiting to be brought to unlife through color. Unlike a single hero model, a horde of zombies requires a different approach. These figures will be seen as a group on the tabletop, and the overall impression is more important than the fine details on any individual model. Still, each miniature is an opportunity to experiment with new ideas, color combinations, and techniques. The decision to paint the zombies with different clothing colors and a range of brown skin tones is significant. It shows an understanding of how variety creates visual interest and realism, even within a horde of nearly identical figures.
Zombies are a painter’s playground when it comes to creativity. They allow for experimentation that might feel too risky on a centerpiece model. A player’s main character or hero model is expected to look sharp, clean, and carefully executed, but zombies can afford to look messy. In fact, a certain amount of irregularity suits them perfectly. Streaky washes, uneven highlights, and splashes of dried blood all contribute to the sense that these creatures are decaying and chaotic. This freedom can be liberating for a painter who has just finished a challenging and precise model like Ann the Nun. It allows them to loosen up, try bolder techniques, and work faster without worrying about perfection.
One of the most exciting aspects of painting zombies is experimenting with skin tones. For human characters, painters often aim for natural, healthy-looking skin, with warm highlights and subtle blush tones on the cheeks and lips. Zombies, on the other hand, offer the chance to push the palette into unnatural territory. The decision to use a brown skin tone for this set adds diversity to the horde, but it also opens up space to explore what happens to brown skin when it decays. Painters can add grays, greens, and purples to suggest rot, bruising, and the draining of blood from the skin. This is where an understanding of color theory becomes especially valuable.
Color theory teaches that complementary colors can be used to create contrast and interest. For example, a brown tone with green shadows can look eerie and unsettling, as green is not normally a natural shadow color for skin. Adding a hint of purple or blue around the eyes, lips, or fingertips can suggest coldness or the onset of death. These color choices give the zombies character, making them look more than just brown-skinned humans but truly members of the undead. Even subtle variations from one zombie to the next — some with more greenish undertones, some with more gray — can create a horde that feels alive with variety.
Clothing color also plays a key role in making the horde visually appealing. It is tempting to paint all zombies in the same outfit colors for speed, but this can result in a group that looks too uniform and artificial. In the real world, people wear all sorts of clothing, and in a zombie apocalypse, the horde would reflect that randomness. By painting one zombie in a faded red shirt, another in a yellow hoodie, another in tattered jeans, and yet another in mismatched colors, the painter recreates that sense of realism. The result is a scene that looks as though it could have been ripped from a movie or video game — a chaotic mob of unique individuals turned into monsters.
This approach also makes the painting process more engaging. Painting 18 figures in a row with the same color scheme can become monotonous and discouraging. By mixing up the palette, the painter keeps themselves interested and inspired. Each miniature becomes a small challenge: what color shirt should this one wear, what shade should these pants be, what details will make this zombie stand out? This small-scale creativity turns what might have been a tedious assembly line into a series of mini-projects, each offering a sense of accomplishment.
Another benefit of painting zombies is the opportunity to practice techniques like washes and dry brushing. Washes are thin, dark paints applied over the entire model to settle in the recesses, creating instant shading. Zombies are perfect for this technique because their torn clothing, ragged flesh, and textured bases all benefit from added depth. Dry brushing — where a nearly dry brush with just a hint of paint is dragged lightly over the surface — is great for picking out raised details quickly. A dry brush of light gray over a brown coat can create the look of worn, dusty fabric, which suits the post-apocalyptic theme.
Blood effects are another fun element that can be added to zombie models. Whether it is a splash of bright red across the mouth or a dark brown stain down a sleeve, blood adds drama and narrative. Some painters like to use glossy paints or technical mediums to create the look of fresh, wet blood, while others prefer a darker, dried look that suggests the zombie has been shambling for some time. Each choice tells a story.
This stage of painting is also an opportunity to develop speed. Horde painting encourages efficiency because there are so many figures to get through. Painters often learn to paint in batches, completing one color on multiple zombies before moving to the next color. This assembly-line approach saves time and keeps paint from drying out on the palette. It also trains the painter to make decisions quickly — which shade to use, how much highlight to apply, and when to call a model finished. These are valuable skills that carry over into painting more complex miniatures later on.
The decision to vary color schemes is more than just an aesthetic choice; it is a reflection of the painter’s evolving philosophy. Instead of approaching the task as a chore to complete, they are using it as a creative exercise, pushing themselves to think beyond the obvious and to experiment. This is where miniature painting becomes not just a hobby but a form of art. Every choice — from skin tone to clothing color to the placement of blood stains — becomes an act of storytelling. The zombies are no longer generic figures; they are characters with implied histories, each one unique in its final moments before turning.
Finally, there is the anticipation of seeing the horde come together. When all 18 zombies are finished and placed on the table, the painter will be rewarded with the sight of a complete, varied, and visually striking group. This is one of the most satisfying moments in the hobby — when individual efforts come together into a cohesive whole. It is the payoff for the hours spent mixing colors, applying washes, and painting tiny details. Even if a few models are imperfect, the overall effect is what matters, and it will be impressive.
Growth Through Glazes, Highlights, and the Slow Craft of Improvement
As the painter continues their work, there is a natural shift from merely applying paint to actively shaping a skill set. Miniature painting is both a craft and an art, and its challenges often teach lessons that go beyond the hobby table. It demands patience, persistence, and a willingness to experiment. This is particularly true when working with techniques like glazing and highlighting, which are deceptively simple in concept but take a long time to master.
Glazing, for instance, is one of those techniques that many painters hear about early on but struggle to execute correctly. The idea is to take a very thin, almost transparent layer of paint and apply it over a transition between two colors to smooth the shift from dark to light. On paper, it sounds easy. In practice, it is an exercise in control. The paint must be thinned to just the right consistency so that it deposits enough pigment to have an effect but not so much that it covers everything beneath. Too much paint on the brush will flood the surface and leave tide marks. Too little will barely show any change. It can be frustrating to spend several passes on the same area, waiting for each glaze to dry, only to find that the transition is still too harsh.
This process can test a painter’s patience, but it also teaches discipline. Glazing is slow work, and rushing it rarely produces good results. It rewards those who are willing to take their time, keep their paints consistent, and slowly build up smooth blends. Each time the painter practices glazing, they gain a little more control over their brush and paint mixture. They begin to understand how much paint to load, how to wick excess water off on a paper towel, and how to place the brush so the pigment settles exactly where it needs to. These are small improvements, but over weeks and months, they compound into real progress.
Highlighting is another area where growth comes through repetition. There are many different kinds of highlights — layering, glazing, edge highlights, stippling — and each one teaches the painter something different. Layering involves building up highlights with progressively lighter tones, leaving a bit of each previous layer visible to create a gradient. This can be time-consuming but very satisfying when done correctly. Edge highlighting, which the painter tried for the first time on Ann the Nun, is a more graphic style of highlighting that relies on picking out only the sharpest edges. This can dramatically increase the contrast on a model, making the details more readable from across the table.
The first attempts at edge highlighting are rarely perfect. The lines might be too thick or uneven, or the chosen highlight color might not be light enough to stand out. But even imperfect edge highlights are valuable practice. Over time, the painter learns how to brace their hands for stability, how to use the side of the brush to catch edges cleanly, and how to mix a highlight color that pops without looking unnatural. These lessons cannot be learned without making mistakes along the way.
There is also a psychological aspect to this process. Miniature painting can be frustrating because the painter often has a vision in mind that their current skill level cannot yet achieve. It is easy to become discouraged when the face does not turn out as expressive as imagined or the highlights look blocky instead of smooth. But this tension between vision and execution is exactly what drives improvement. If the painter were perfectly satisfied with every model, they would have no reason to push themselves further. The small dissatisfactions become motivators, pointing the way toward what to practice next.
This is why it is so important to view each miniature not just as an end product but as a step along the path. Ann the Nun might not have a perfect face or flawless cloak highlights, but she represents progress. She represents a first attempt at edge highlighting, an experiment with glazes, a moment of problem-solving when the varnish came out wrong. Without her, the next model would not be better. Every miniature becomes part of a timeline of growth, each one carrying the lessons of the last.
Another key part of growth is learning to let go of perfectionism. Miniature painters often talk about the concept of “tabletop standard” — a level of quality where the model looks good at arm’s length and contributes to the visual impact of the game, even if it would not win a painting competition. Not every model needs to be painted to the highest standard. In fact, trying to make every single zombie or background figure perfect is a recipe for burnout. Accepting that some miniatures will simply be “good enough” is liberating and allows the painter to keep moving forward instead of getting stuck.
This does not mean lowering standards entirely; rather, it means setting realistic goals for each model. The painter might decide that their goal for the current zombie batch is to improve skin tone variation and practice clothing color combinations, while letting minor imperfections slide. For the next character model, the goal might be to focus on getting the eyes right or experimenting with object source lighting. By approaching painting this way, the hobby becomes a series of focused exercises rather than a marathon of perfection.
The emotional journey of miniature painting is closely tied to these technical improvements. There is a sense of satisfaction that comes from finally nailing a smooth transition on a cloak or getting a face to look expressive instead of blank. These little victories are motivating and create momentum to keep painting. The challenges, too, are motivating in their own way. They remind the painter that there is always more to learn, more techniques to try, more ways to grow.
Another important aspect of growth is developing a workflow that works for the individual painter. Some people thrive on batch painting large groups of models at once, while others prefer to focus on one miniature from start to finish. Some like to prime in black and build up highlights, while others prefer a white or zenithal prime to make colors pop. Experimenting with these approaches helps the painter discover what feels most natural and enjoyable for them. The hobby is not one-size-fits-all, and part of the growth process is figuring out what style and pace best suit the individual’s personality and schedule.
With every painted model, confidence grows. The painter begins to trust their instincts when choosing colors. They become more comfortable making small mistakes because they know they can fix them with another layer of paint or a quick wash. They stop worrying so much about whether each model is “good enough” and start focusing on the joy of seeing a completed figure join the painted army. This shift in mindset transforms painting from a source of stress into a source of relaxation and pride.
The Joy of Completion and the Connection to the Tabletop
The act of completing a miniature holds a unique kind of satisfaction that few other hobbies replicate. It is the culmination of hours of work, from priming and basecoating to highlighting and sealing. There is something quietly triumphant about setting down the brush, taking a step back, and seeing the miniature fully painted. Even when the painter can still spot imperfections, the model transforms in that moment from a work-in-progress into a finished piece of the army or collection. This sense of completion provides a reward that fuels motivation to move on to the next model, keeping the cycle of creativity alive.
When the miniature eventually makes its way onto the tabletop, the reward multiplies. Miniature gaming is an inherently visual experience, and painted models enhance it dramatically. Where unpainted plastic or resin can feel sterile, painted miniatures bring life and story to the battlefield. They transform the game into something cinematic, something immersive. The player does not just see a set of statistics on a card; they see a character who has been given form and personality through color choices, shading, and detail.
This is particularly true when painting a character like Ann the Nun. Her role on the table might be small compared to the larger cast of heroes, zombies, or monsters, but she stands out because she has been given individual attention. Her cloak, her weapons, her armor — each part carries the touch of the painter’s hand. In this way, every completed miniature becomes a collaboration between the sculptor who designed it and the painter who brought it to life.
Completing a batch of zombies carries a different but equally satisfying feeling. While individual zombies may not receive the same level of attention as a hero or villain, seeing a whole group completed at once creates a strong sense of accomplishment. Rows of finished walkers, runners, and larger monsters lined up together create visual impact and remind the painter that all those hours of work add up to something tangible. It also changes the feel of the game itself. Facing down a fully painted horde feels more dramatic and threatening than facing unpainted figures. This extra level of immersion makes each game session more memorable and rewarding.
Another important aspect of completion is how it builds momentum. Miniature painters often talk about the “pile of shame” — the unpainted backlog of models waiting to be worked on. That backlog can be daunting, especially when it grows faster than it shrinks. But each finished model is a victory against that pile, a small but meaningful step toward the goal of having a fully painted collection. For many hobbyists, this goal might never be fully reached, but that does not diminish the importance of each milestone. Every painted model adds value to the collection and reminds the painter that progress is being made.
The connection between painting and gaming also creates a cycle of inspiration. Playing a game with painted models often sparks new ideas for future painting projects. Perhaps during a game, a particular character stands out because they performed heroically or hilariously; that character might be chosen as the next project to receive extra attention or a special paint job. Conversely, painting a model might spark excitement to get it on the table and see it in action. This back-and-forth exchange between painting and playing keeps both aspects of the hobby fresh and engaging.
The act of painting also becomes a kind of storytelling. Color choices can convey personality, allegiance, or even mood. A group of zombies with varied clothing and skin tones tells a richer story than a group painted identically. It suggests a world where each zombie once had a different life, a different background, before becoming part of the horde. Similarly, choosing a particular scheme for Ann the Nun’s cloak or armor might say something about her character — whether she is meant to look austere and holy, battle-worn and grim, or even slightly sinister. These decisions give the painter agency over the narrative of the game world.
In addition to personal satisfaction, painting can foster a sense of community. Sharing completed models with friends or online hobby groups allows for feedback, encouragement, and inspiration. Comments from fellow painters can highlight what works well on a model, suggest improvements, or simply celebrate the achievement of finishing another miniature. This sense of camaraderie helps sustain motivation during times when painting feels slow or difficult. It reminds the painter that they are part of a wider creative community, all working toward the shared goal of bringing tiny worlds to life.
There is also an important meditative quality to painting. Sitting down with a brush, focusing on small details, and methodically applying paint can be a calming and centering activity. It provides a break from the rush of daily life and allows for a kind of quiet concentration that many people find therapeutic. This is true even when the results are not perfect. The process itself — mixing paints, making deliberate brushstrokes, seeing gradual progress — can be rewarding regardless of the outcome.
Over time, the painter begins to develop a personal style. This style might be bold and colorful, leaning into exaggerated highlights and vibrant contrasts, or it might be subtle and realistic, with muted tones and careful weathering effects. Whatever the case, this evolving style becomes part of the painter’s identity. Looking back at older models reveals how far they have come and provides a visual record of their improvement. This sense of growth is one of the most satisfying parts of the hobby, as it shows that each hour spent at the painting desk contributes to long-term development.
Even when a model does not turn out exactly as planned, it still has value. Imperfect models remind the painter of where they were at a particular point in time and often become sentimental favorites because of the struggles involved in finishing them. Ann the Nun, for instance, might not have the perfect face the painter imagined, but she will always represent a milestone in the learning process. She marks the moment when the painter first attempted edge highlighting seriously, when they experimented with glazing weapons, and when they learned the importance of properly shaking varnish.
This perspective helps combat the fear of failure. When each model is seen as a step forward rather than a final exam, it becomes easier to experiment with new techniques. The painter might try non-metallic metal for the first time, attempt freehand patterns on a cloak, or use advanced shading methods without worrying that a mistake will ruin the model. This freedom to experiment leads to breakthroughs that would not be possible otherwise.
Finally, there is a deeper satisfaction that comes from seeing a collection grow over time. Each completed miniature joins the others in a display case, on a shelf, or in a game box, forming a growing army of painted figures. The painter can look at this collection and feel pride, not just because it looks impressive, but because it represents dedication, creativity, and countless hours of work. This is the true reward of the hobby — not just the finished models, but the journey of growth and learning they represent.
Closing Reflections on the Journey and What Lies Ahead
Looking back at the process of painting Ann the Nun and preparing for the next batch of zombies, it becomes clear that miniature painting is far more than a casual pastime. It is a discipline, a form of personal growth, and a conversation between creativity and patience. Each miniature painted becomes both a memory and a milestone, a point on a timeline that reflects technical improvement and a deeper understanding of the craft. Even the frustrations, whether they came from a shiny varnish coat or a face that refused to cooperate, became valuable learning moments that will inform the next project.
One of the most important realizations is that no single miniature has to be perfect. It is tempting to hold every figure up against an ideal, to expect flawless blends, razor-sharp edge highlights, and immaculate faces on every attempt. But this kind of perfectionism can rob the hobby of its joy. The value of a model like Ann lies in what it taught during the process — how to shake varnish properly, how to experiment with glazes on a weapon blade, and how to attempt edge highlighting for the first time. These are not trivial lessons; they are part of the painter’s growth. With each attempt, skills sharpen and confidence grows, setting the stage for more ambitious projects in the future.
This growth mindset transforms the way painting is approached. Instead of fearing mistakes, the painter begins to see them as opportunities. A poorly blended cloak becomes a reason to practice smoother glazing next time. A face that looks too flat becomes motivation to research new techniques for painting eyes and adding subtle shadows. Even models that are considered “failures” serve as important stepping stones, reminding the painter that improvement only comes from repeated practice and from being willing to experiment.
Another powerful element of this journey is the way it connects to the gaming experience. A fully painted figure does more than look good on the shelf — it adds character and immersion to the tabletop. Ann the Nun might not be the centerpiece of a scenario, but when she steps onto the board in full color, she carries with her the hours of attention, care, and learning that went into her creation. She tells a story even before the game begins. The same is true for the zombies being painted next. Giving them varied skin tones and clothing choices creates a sense of individuality within the horde, making the game feel less like a clash of generic pieces and more like a desperate battle for survival in a living, breathing world.
Painting also reinforces a connection to the larger hobby community. Sharing progress, seeking feedback, and exchanging advice with others who share the same passion creates a sense of belonging. The challenges faced are not unique; every painter has struggled with chalky highlights, streaky glazes, or glossy varnish. Every painter has had a model that looked better in their imagination than it did on the table. This shared struggle and shared progress build camaraderie and provide encouragement to keep moving forward.
There is also something deeply meditative about the process. Sitting at the desk with brush in hand, focusing on small areas of detail, slows the mind and provides an escape from the noise of daily life. The routine of thinning paints, mixing colors, and applying them with care creates a rhythm that is calming. Time spent painting is time spent being present, paying attention to the little things. This alone makes the hobby meaningful, even before the finished miniature is revealed.
Looking forward, the zombies represent both a challenge and an opportunity. Painting them in different color combinations will push creativity and encourage experimentation. It will force consideration of contrast, complementary schemes, and variation in skin tones. Each zombie painted will add to the visual richness of the horde, making future game sessions more memorable. At the same time, the process will continue to refine skills — glazing, layering, edge highlighting — building on what was learned while working on Ann.
This journey, like the hobby itself, is never truly finished. There will always be another model to paint, another technique to try, another improvement to chase. That is part of the beauty of miniature painting. It offers an endless horizon of growth and discovery. Each finished miniature is not an endpoint but a gateway to the next project, the next challenge, the next step forward.
In the end, the true reward lies not just in the models themselves but in the experience they represent. Ann the Nun may not be flawless, but she carries with her the memory of the time spent experimenting, learning, and persevering. The zombies waiting on the desk will carry those lessons forward, becoming the next set of teachers in the ongoing process of improvement. Together, they form a personal history, a story of dedication to a craft that combines creativity, patience, and play.
The journey of miniature painting is one of small victories, quiet frustrations, and constant growth. Each painted figure, no matter how simple or complex, contributes to a larger narrative of progress. And when those models finally take their place on the gaming table, they remind everyone present that they are more than just playing pieces — they are the result of hours of focus, care, and imagination. In this way, the act of painting becomes inseparable from the act of gaming, turning every session into not just a contest of strategy but a celebration of creativity.