How do I translate what I see and feel into marks, color, and form on a surface?

This is the essential question, isn't it? The gap between seeing and making is where all the work actually lives. You can't translate directly—you have to interpret. What you're really doing is choosing which truths matter most and which details can fall away. Start by asking yourself: what moved me about this? Was it a color relationship, a shape, the quality of light, the way something conveyed emotion? Let that be your anchor. Then experiment with the materials available to you. A mark in charcoal communicates differently than a brushstroke in paint. The surface itself participates in meaning. You're not trying to recreate exactly what you see; you're creating an equivalent—something in your medium that carries the same feeling or insight. This requires permission to fail, to make choices that won't make sense until later. Keep working. Each attempt teaches your hand and eye something. The translation becomes clearer through practice, not through understanding it in advance. Your particular way of working—your hesitations, your bold moments, your accidents—that becomes the voice that makes your work recognizable as yours.