Back in the olden days, I fancied myself an artist. I could draw with almost anything. I preferred charcoal over pastels, chalk pastels over oil, pen and ink over pencils.
What about painting? I knew you'd ask that. Mostly because I'm writing this and I'm the one putting the dialog out there for "you"- and "you" could be anyone.
I was an adequate artist. I could do still-life, nature, animals, landscapes, seascapes, even people if I didn't have to make them look like someone in particular. Every so often, I'd get lucky and slam out a drawing of a person (usually from a photo) that looked like the person in question. But I couldn't do it every time.
But painting.
Hooo-boy... painting. I disliked painting for many reasons. One reason was that I was raised as an Army NCO's daughter. If you think soldiers get paid low wages now, well, you should have seen it back then. Painting was expensive. Canvases, special paper, decent brushes, the paint itself. Too damn pricey. But, I took art classes in high school. "Drawing/Design" was the name of the class I took. I took "D/D1" and then "D/D2", and after that, it was "individualized study". That merely meant the teacher gave us special assignments and sent us on our merry way. In the D/D class, we had supplies and I got my first chance at real painting. Also, I disliked painting because, unlike a pen or charcoal, I couldn't just set up anywhere to work on my project. I had to have space and room to move and lay things out. If I were drawing, I could pick up any ol' pen or pencil and draw (although I did have and prefer art pencils and such).
I chose watercolors because I do like how it looks on paper/canvas/whatever. And I figured, with so much bravado, how hard could it be? I'll stick to what I know I can do (animals, landscapes) and avoid what I can't do (humans, mostly). We had these wooden easels that looked like the wood shop started rocking horses, changed their minds and left them straight. We got to carry these, with our supplies, wherever we wanted to go on school grounds and do our project. Watercolors and paper in hand, I picked up my easel-horse and set off down the hall from the class. I knew where I was going. To the end of yellow hall, (our high school had color-coded hallways). There was a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked a short service road that led to the football field.
Or hockey rink. I don't remember where the hell it led to, but it was a nice, tree-lined road that curved so a person couldn't actually see the end.
I sat down with my stuff, got everything situated and looked out at the beautiful Autumn day. The leaves were changing colors and falling like soft, orange snowflakes. The sunlight danced through the trees and dappled the ground. Picturesque! I had chosen wisely.
Or so I thought.
I did what any artist would do. I started with what I knew. So I picked up my pencil and started a light sketch of what I wanted. Except the light sketch ended up having a lot more detail than it should have. By the time I was done sketching, it was the end of that class (we had 80 minute classes back then). I spent two weeks sitting by that window, using watercolors.
Picture, if you will, a pencil sketch. All the lines are there, but nothing is shaded in. It looked like something out of a complicated coloring book. I painstakingly filled in everything with watercolor. By the end of this fiasco, I hated watercolor. My "painting" (and I use "" around the word because I'm being generous) was more like a horribly filled-in paint-by-numbers. I didn't want to turn the assignment in because I knew it was bad. But I had to because it was my project and it was due.
When I got the atrocity back in my grubby little hands, I had a "B" for a grade. Why? Why on earth would my teacher give this artistic abortion a "B"? You could see the pencil lines through the watercolor. It looked like I put all colors of paint in my mouth and spat them at the large canvas. I got a "B" because I tried, I followed the protocol (showed details, did shading), and turned it in on time.
It was then that I realized that our art teacher was either sick of teaching people like me or she was clinically insane.
Why am I telling you all this right now? Well, for one, I'm awake at its after midnight. I have no idea why I'm awake, I ingested a pill and a half of muscle relaxer. I should be unconscious and squishy. But I'm not. I'm upright, awake, and decidedly not squishy. Today- that is to say, yesterday (Sunday)- I left the house and took some photos of "autumnal scenes". If you know me and my photography, you know that I have an affection for macro shots. Affection isn't the right word. Obsession, maybe.
I took loads of macro shots of leaves and spiderwebs, and flowers that were hanging on to the last warm days before the cold screams its way into Wisconsin. And, I took a few "normal" shots of Autumn trees. One of those shots reminded me of that painting. I will never forget that painting. I eventually went on to become proficient in watercolors, but it was a long time from "spat at the canvas" look to passable watercolor painting.
Its safe to say that any Fall scene with falling leaves and a slight curve in a path will remind me of that vomit-inducing painting. I have to say that I much prefer photography to watercolors. My photography teacher- Mrs. Richmond- would be proud, I think. Or at least proud of what I'm doing with my photos. (we're trying to raise money for our daughter's orchestra trip to New York City and I'm selling photos on etsy).
And here is the link to the set of photos I took today. I mean, yesterday. That is to say, Sunday, the 10th.
You'll see one of the shots that reminds me of that horrifying painting. I don't even have to tell you which one.
What about painting? I knew you'd ask that. Mostly because I'm writing this and I'm the one putting the dialog out there for "you"- and "you" could be anyone.
I was an adequate artist. I could do still-life, nature, animals, landscapes, seascapes, even people if I didn't have to make them look like someone in particular. Every so often, I'd get lucky and slam out a drawing of a person (usually from a photo) that looked like the person in question. But I couldn't do it every time.
But painting.
Hooo-boy... painting. I disliked painting for many reasons. One reason was that I was raised as an Army NCO's daughter. If you think soldiers get paid low wages now, well, you should have seen it back then. Painting was expensive. Canvases, special paper, decent brushes, the paint itself. Too damn pricey. But, I took art classes in high school. "Drawing/Design" was the name of the class I took. I took "D/D1" and then "D/D2", and after that, it was "individualized study". That merely meant the teacher gave us special assignments and sent us on our merry way. In the D/D class, we had supplies and I got my first chance at real painting. Also, I disliked painting because, unlike a pen or charcoal, I couldn't just set up anywhere to work on my project. I had to have space and room to move and lay things out. If I were drawing, I could pick up any ol' pen or pencil and draw (although I did have and prefer art pencils and such).
I chose watercolors because I do like how it looks on paper/canvas/whatever. And I figured, with so much bravado, how hard could it be? I'll stick to what I know I can do (animals, landscapes) and avoid what I can't do (humans, mostly). We had these wooden easels that looked like the wood shop started rocking horses, changed their minds and left them straight. We got to carry these, with our supplies, wherever we wanted to go on school grounds and do our project. Watercolors and paper in hand, I picked up my easel-horse and set off down the hall from the class. I knew where I was going. To the end of yellow hall, (our high school had color-coded hallways). There was a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked a short service road that led to the football field.
Or hockey rink. I don't remember where the hell it led to, but it was a nice, tree-lined road that curved so a person couldn't actually see the end.
I sat down with my stuff, got everything situated and looked out at the beautiful Autumn day. The leaves were changing colors and falling like soft, orange snowflakes. The sunlight danced through the trees and dappled the ground. Picturesque! I had chosen wisely.
Or so I thought.
I did what any artist would do. I started with what I knew. So I picked up my pencil and started a light sketch of what I wanted. Except the light sketch ended up having a lot more detail than it should have. By the time I was done sketching, it was the end of that class (we had 80 minute classes back then). I spent two weeks sitting by that window, using watercolors.
Picture, if you will, a pencil sketch. All the lines are there, but nothing is shaded in. It looked like something out of a complicated coloring book. I painstakingly filled in everything with watercolor. By the end of this fiasco, I hated watercolor. My "painting" (and I use "" around the word because I'm being generous) was more like a horribly filled-in paint-by-numbers. I didn't want to turn the assignment in because I knew it was bad. But I had to because it was my project and it was due.
When I got the atrocity back in my grubby little hands, I had a "B" for a grade. Why? Why on earth would my teacher give this artistic abortion a "B"? You could see the pencil lines through the watercolor. It looked like I put all colors of paint in my mouth and spat them at the large canvas. I got a "B" because I tried, I followed the protocol (showed details, did shading), and turned it in on time.
It was then that I realized that our art teacher was either sick of teaching people like me or she was clinically insane.
Why am I telling you all this right now? Well, for one, I'm awake at its after midnight. I have no idea why I'm awake, I ingested a pill and a half of muscle relaxer. I should be unconscious and squishy. But I'm not. I'm upright, awake, and decidedly not squishy. Today- that is to say, yesterday (Sunday)- I left the house and took some photos of "autumnal scenes". If you know me and my photography, you know that I have an affection for macro shots. Affection isn't the right word. Obsession, maybe.
I took loads of macro shots of leaves and spiderwebs, and flowers that were hanging on to the last warm days before the cold screams its way into Wisconsin. And, I took a few "normal" shots of Autumn trees. One of those shots reminded me of that painting. I will never forget that painting. I eventually went on to become proficient in watercolors, but it was a long time from "spat at the canvas" look to passable watercolor painting.
Its safe to say that any Fall scene with falling leaves and a slight curve in a path will remind me of that vomit-inducing painting. I have to say that I much prefer photography to watercolors. My photography teacher- Mrs. Richmond- would be proud, I think. Or at least proud of what I'm doing with my photos. (we're trying to raise money for our daughter's orchestra trip to New York City and I'm selling photos on etsy).
And here is the link to the set of photos I took today. I mean, yesterday. That is to say, Sunday, the 10th.
You'll see one of the shots that reminds me of that horrifying painting. I don't even have to tell you which one.