"You work so hard at it. Just put it down and let it lie. If you work that same spot over and over again, it's going to get muddy."
Ever work hard at something, but the harder you worked the more elusive the desired outcome became? You knew exactly what the result had to be, what it needed to look like. Even if by sheer brute force, you would make it happen. Except, it didn't quite work.
It can be quite discouraging. It can even convince you that you are not a maker.
Several years ago I received one-on-one watercolor painting lessons from a woman in her 80s that was full of stories, curiosity and quiet observation. She would introduce a concept, give me an assignment and then leave me to paint by myself for a while. She would glance over periodically and return to her own painting without a word. That is, except for the time I was trying to paint a clematis flower from reference material she had brought. I was struggling with it, adding more paint in one color and then another, over and over, knowing that my persistence would be rewarded with a crisp, realistic reproduction of the reference flower.
She watched my painting for a bit and as she turned back to her work, she said, "You work so hard at it. Just put it down and let it lie. If you work that same spot over and over again, it's going to get muddy."
It can be quite discouraging. It can even convince you that you are not a maker.
Several years ago I received one-on-one watercolor painting lessons from a woman in her 80s that was full of stories, curiosity and quiet observation. She would introduce a concept, give me an assignment and then leave me to paint by myself for a while. She would glance over periodically and return to her own painting without a word. That is, except for the time I was trying to paint a clematis flower from reference material she had brought. I was struggling with it, adding more paint in one color and then another, over and over, knowing that my persistence would be rewarded with a crisp, realistic reproduction of the reference flower.
She watched my painting for a bit and as she turned back to her work, she said, "You work so hard at it. Just put it down and let it lie. If you work that same spot over and over again, it's going to get muddy."
The next time I showed up for class she handed me a packet of colored tissue paper, a bottle of Elmers glue and the same reference material I was using the week before. She asked me to tear tissue paper into pieces and glue it on the paper so that I could paint the flowers over it. She responded to my skeptical look by telling me I needed to loosen up, to learn to just go with it. A collage painting was the prescription for my relentless style.
The painting I made from that exercise was my first finished painting. She convinced me to enter it in the student portion of a show at the gallery she belonged to. It meant I had to get my painting professionally framed and I had to sign it. As a first painting, it was understandably amateur, but later when I had my own office at work I hung the painting above my desk. At the time, it was reminder that I had interests outside of work. Now that I finally understand the lesson, it is much more significant. It was my first glimpse into how lessons from my "side" interests could carry over into my professional life.
-Andrea
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