The spreadsheet was perfect. Every cell aligned, every formula triple-checked, every variance explained to the penny. I hit save, closed my laptop, and walked to my spare bedroom where chaos lived. Paint everywhere. Canvas crooked. Colors that made no sense. And for the first time all day, I could breathe.
I’m Susie, 61, former CFO, current artist. Those two identities shouldn’t exist in the same person, but here we are. After 35 years of making numbers behave, I discovered that making paint misbehave is where I actually come alive.
If you’re a left-brain professional secretly drawn to right-brain chaos, or if you’ve been told you’re “not the creative type,” this is for you. Because I’m living proof that creativity doesn’t care about your job title, your age, or your complete inability to draw a straight line (seriously, my stick figures need therapy).
The CFO Years: When Excel Was My Canvas
For three decades, I was the numbers person. The one who could spot a $0.03 discrepancy in a million-dollar budget. The one executives called when things didn’t add up. The one who lived in spreadsheets, breathed in formulas, and dreamed in pivot tables.
I was good at it. Really good. Rose through the ranks from junior accountant to CFO. Built financial models that saved companies. Led teams through audits, acquisitions, and crises. By every measure, I was successful.
But successful and fulfilled aren’t the same thing.
Every day at 5 PM (okay, usually 7 PM), I’d close Excel feeling… empty. Like I’d spent another day organizing someone else’s chaos while mine grew louder inside. I’d joke that my creativity was “making spreadsheets pretty with color coding.” Hilarious, right?
The Moment Everything Shifted
The shift happened at 59, during COVID. Curtis was sick (not COVID, but scary nonetheless), work was insane, and I was falling apart. My therapist suggested “creative expression.” I laughed. “I express myself through financial statements,” I said.
She wasn’t amused. “Try something with your hands that isn’t typing.”
That night, scrolling through YouTube at 2 AM (insomnia’s gift to overthinkers), I found Dutch pour painting. No skill required. Just pour paint and tilt. Even I couldn’t screw that up.
Ordered supplies on Amazon at 2:47 AM. They arrived two days later. Curtis found me in the garage at midnight, covered in paint, crying over a canvas that looked like a unicorn threw up on it. “It’s terrible,” I said. He said, “But you’re smiling.”
He was right. For the first time in years, I was creating something that didn’t need to be perfect. That first Dutch pour changed everything.
Why CFOs Need Art (And Artists Need Structure)
Here’s what nobody tells you about being analytical: It’s exhausting. Your brain never stops calculating, analyzing, optimizing. Even at dinner, you’re mentally calculating the tip before the check arrives. At the grocery store, you’re computing price per unit. Your brain is a computer that won’t shut down.
Art forces shutdown. When I’m painting, there’s no right answer. No formula. No benchmark. Just color and movement and possibility. My analytical brain HATES it. Which is exactly why I need it.
The paradox? My CFO skills make me a better artist:
- Project management helps me finish pieces
- Budgeting means I don’t overspend on supplies (much)
- Analysis helps me understand why certain techniques work
- Discipline from years of deadlines keeps me practicing
- Problem-solving translates to creative solutions
And weirdly, art makes me better at business. Finding my flow state through painting taught me to access that zone in other areas too.
The Identity Crisis Nobody Warns You About
When you’ve been “the numbers person” for 35 years, adding “artist” to your identity feels like fraud. The first time someone called me an artist, I corrected them. “I just mess around with paint.”
The imposter syndrome was real:
- “Real artists went to art school”
- “Real artists can draw”
- “Real artists don’t use YouTube tutorials”
- “Real artists don’t have day jobs as CFOs”
- “Real artists start young, not at 59”
Took months to realize: Real artists make art. Period. Doesn’t matter if you’re 9 or 90, trained or self-taught, selling in galleries or hiding paintings under your bed. If you create, you’re an artist.
Building confidence after 50 includes claiming all parts of yourself, even the ones that don’t match your business card.
The Day Job / Night Art Balance
For two years, I lived a double life. CFO by day, painter by night. My home office was spreadsheets and statements. My garage was canvases and chaos. I’d wash paint from under my nails before Monday morning meetings.
The balance was tricky:
- Paint at night, present budgets in morning (once with blue still in my hair)
- Conference calls while paintings dried
- Use lunch breaks to watch technique videos
- Sneak art supplies purchases into “office supplies” budget
- Transform garage into studio one painted surface at a time
Colleagues started noticing changes. I was less stressed, more creative in problem-solving, better at seeing big pictures not just details. One asked if I was doing yoga. “Something like that,” I said, not mentioning the paint-covered yoga mat in my garage.
Coming Out of the Creative Closet
The secret ended when our CEO visited my home office for a virtual board meeting background check. He saw paintings leaning against the wall. “Whose are those?” “Mine,” I admitted, preparing for judgment.
Instead: “Can I buy one for my office?”
That moment changed everything. I started sharing my art journey. Turns out, half our leadership team had secret creative lives. Our CTO wrote poetry. Our CMO played jazz. Our COO did woodworking. We were all closet creatives hiding behind our titles.
We started “Creative Fridays” where people could share their art. Productivity went up. Morale improved. Innovation increased. Who knew that letting people be whole humans would improve business?
What I’ve Learned About Late-Life Creativity
1. Your brain needs both sides: Using only logic or only creativity is like hopping on one foot. You can do it, but why would you?
2. Skills transfer: Every skill from your “day job” applies to art somehow. My goal-setting abilities helped me develop as an artist faster than expected.
3. It’s never too late: Started at 59. Selling paintings at 61. Midlife is perfect for new beginnings because you finally don’t care what people think.
4. Perfection is creativity’s enemy: My best paintings come from “mistakes.” My worst come from trying too hard.
5. Identity is expandable: You can be multiple things. CFO and artist. Analytical and creative. Serious and playful.
The Plot Twist: Making Money From Paint
Never intended to sell anything. Art was therapy, not business. But people kept asking to buy pieces. Started with CEO’s purchase. Then colleagues. Then friends of friends.
Now I have an Etsy shop, take commissions, and sold 47 paintings last year. The CFO in me tracks every sale, cost, and profit margin (old habits die hard). The artist in me can’t believe people pay money for my “unicorn vomit” (my loving term for abstract art).
The income isn’t retirement-funding, but it covers supplies plus extra. More importantly, it validates that this isn’t just a hobby. It’s a legitimate part of who I am.
Advice for Closet Creatives
If you’re analytical, type-A, left-brained, or otherwise convinced you’re “not creative,” listen up:
Start small: One YouTube tutorial. One cheap canvas. One hour.
Expect to suck: Your first attempts will be terrible. Good. Get the terrible out of the way.
Don’t quit your day job: Yet. Let creativity be pressure-free play first.
Find your medium: Maybe it’s not painting. Try writing, music, pottery, photography, cooking, gardening. Build your happiness toolbox with creative tools.
Connect with other beginners: Online groups for “later life artists” are supportive and inspiring.
Document your journey: Progress photos remind you how far you’ve come when you feel stuck.
The CFO Who Paints: Both/And, Not Either/Or
I’m still analytical. Still love spreadsheets. Still get excited about balanced budgets. But now I also get excited about color theory, texture, and the way light hits wet paint.
Thursday I presented a financial forecast to the board. Friday I painted a piece called “Chaos Theory” that looks nothing like a forecast and everything like freedom. Saturday I taught my grandson to paint while teaching him fractions (paint mixing is math, fight me).
This is what integration looks like at 61. Not choosing between parts of yourself but claiming all of them. The CFO and the painter. The analyst and the artist. The woman who makes numbers behave and paint misbehave.
P.S. – Last week someone asked how a CFO becomes an artist. I said, “One paint spill at a time.” They thought I was joking. I wasn’t. Currently working on my 127th painting. My spreadsheets are still perfect. My paintings are perfectly imperfect. My life finally includes both. And yes, I’ve started signing my financial reports with a tiny painted dot in the corner. Because why not? We’re all art in progress.
