| Primary colors on 22. Oct 2008 in Jacky. |
| Besides an unpleasant experience this summer in a continuing education class, I haven’t held a paintbrush since elementary school. I never chose art as an elective in middle or high school, instead opting for journalism or cooking. I’ve never felt artistic, never felt comfortable with paint or ink or expressing myself in brushstrokes. I’m embarrassed to admit (especially because I’m a designer) that I still don’t have a full grasp of the color wheel, even though I have vivid memories of it hanging in the elementary school art room. I don’t think anyone ever specifically told me I was bad at art or shouldn’t pursue it. I just felt, even then, that it wasn’t one of my strengths. I would rather write instead, and I didn’t want to spend my time struggling to do something. So it was a leap of faith (or blindness) that I enrolled in a day-long art workshop during my trip to Portland. I’d read about the Art and Soul retreat on a blog. The workshop just happened to be during my visit and just happened to have a class that combined painting and mixed media collage, something I’ve grown increasingly interested in during the last year after discovering Etsy and art and design related blogs. I had to get a second opinion that the class was worth the hefty fee, and sure enough, Natalie didn’t hesitate to whole-heartedly encourage that I make it happen. That it was working out too perfectly and I was meant to go. Even though the class ended a just few hours before my flight left for New York, I’d Googlemapped the locations and sure enough, the hotel was minutes from the airport. So with too many things effortlessly fitting together, I signed up a few months ago, not sure exactly what the supplies were that we needed. Or what exactly we’d be making. Or how I’d be able to handle it. Would I feel like a 2-year-old fingerpainting while everyone else finished their masterpieces? Or would I feel like a secret talent had been uncovered? Would I chicken out and bail at the last minute? All were viable options. But I knew deep down that I wanted to let myself do this. I wanted to see what happened when I had to get the supplies and I couldn’t use the cost as an excuse. I would have a talented instructor who would be explaining what we were doing and how to do it, so I wouldn’t feel lost or unsure. I didn’t have time to buy supplies before the trip and stumbled upon an art store in Portland during my explorations. I handed the employee my list and said I needed help. Usually I would try to figure it out myself, no matter how long it took or how confused I was. But I figured I was embracing this whole beginner thing and would just go with it. The woman was incredibly nice and helpful, pointing out different options and more affordable brands. After she helped me get everything, I walked through every aisle, finding that I wanted the most random products, even though I didn’t know how to properly use them. The cashier even gave me a student discount even though I didn’t have my continuing education card. The level of niceness in Portland filled me with joy. Even though I was clueless about acrylic paint and had no idea if a flat or pointed brush would be better, I didn’t feel like anyone was judging me. On the day of my class, I arrived at the hotel entirely too early. I read until the check-in desk opened. And then I read some more before it seemed appropriate to go into my classroom. As I watched all the women walking around, I immediately felt inadequate. They were toting their supplies in rolly luggage. I considered ditching my class, even as I was sitting just 10 feet away. The thought of failing, of not doing a good job, of being lost in the class was almost enough to scare me from trying. But as intimidated as I felt, all the women seemed pleasant and smiled at me when I looked up as they walked by. I entered the room 15 minutes before class started, a little surprised to find most of the seats already full. I was the youngest by far. Most of the women could have been my mom or grandma. My instructor was kind, patient and open-minded, and it wasn’t until she stopped in front of me and I noticed she was staring a little that she said “You are so young.” I looked up, not sure what to say, and just replied “Yeah” quietly. Then I explained how this was my first art class ever. She thought it was just the first of the workshop. No. First of the workshop. Only one of the workshop. Only. One. EVER. She said she was honored that I’d chosen her class as my first. I felt lucky that my leader was so open to us expressing ourselves in whatever colors or patterns we wanted that there was no way to be wrong. My color palette wound up morphing into my college colors of red and blue. And upon looking at it with the white base coat underneath, I appeared extremely patriotic. During lunch, after all the pages of my book had dried, I went back and added gold brushstrokes. I’d looked around in amazement at the work my classmates had made: beautiful color combinations, intricate patterns and special stencils. I liked my pages much better after adding the gold strokes, but I also realized that while the rest of the women were creating cohesive, thorough pages, mine were more abstract and wild. Erratic and disjointed. Considering the 40-year age gap, I didn’t worry so much, but that didn’t stop me from admiring their creations and wondering just how they made them. Once our pages were dry, we glued the edges to silk to form a spine and sewed sections of them together. The project ended up being more intricate and detailed than I expected, but now I knew how to do it. As the workshop wound down and we started packing up our supplies, the instructor, Katie, took pictures of each woman and her book. I tried slyly getting my things together and leaving, but Katie noticed my attempted escape and asked me to pose anyway. I secretly wanted her to even though I already packed it up. I didn’t want to be the only one whose work wasn’t remembered, even if it wasn’t like everyone else’s or what I was expecting. I was almost sad to say goodbye to my instructor. In our seven hours together, I’d progressed a long way on my artistic path. I may have mixed up the texturizer and the gel and neglected to add water to my paint, and I may have failed to finish my book, but I felt completely inspired and renewed. And I knew, should I have any questions or problems finishing my pages, I would have Katie’s support. Since returning to New York, I’ve already made a trip to the art store to get more paint, brushes and other supplies. I haven’t had time to make anything yet, but I’m eager to get everything out in the safety of my bedroom and see what I come up with. It may be crap. The color combinations, thanks to my lack of color wheel knowledge, may be muddled and not what I want. But at least I will have tried and experimented and figured out what happens when I do certain things. And then do the opposite of them. And now I know that I can play with paint however I want, whenever I want, because there’s no right or wrong way to express myself. I may not have had an art class in 12 years, but I learned that it’s never too late to play and go outside the lines.
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4 Responses to “Primary colors”Leave a Reply |
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October 22nd, 2008 at 2:08 pm
i had a very similar experience about 7 years ago, the first time i went to artfest. artfest is the wellspring whence came art & soul and many other similar art workshops. i was 47 years old and had never taken any kind of art class or workshop of any kind. i was scared shitless, but it was so empowering for me to give myself permission to do something like that. (on top of everything else - even though i’ve been to england a couple dozen times by myself, i had never flown anywhere here in the states where i had to rent a car and drive two hours to a totally new place - and drive on a car ferry, to boot!) and i really jumped into the deep end - i had signed up for a 3 day class with one instructor! i had an absolute blast and i’ve been back every year since. i made some great friends that i’ve seen there every year. my experience that first year gave me the confidence to attend more workshops - and even several two-week resident programs at a very well-known school of crafts.
October 22nd, 2008 at 7:24 pm
I’m glad that you were so comfortable in Portland. It takes courage to walk in a room to take part in a class that is so foreign to you. It is all very foreign to me but interesting to read your comments!
November 20th, 2008 at 8:18 am
[...] (Portland’s Rose Garden. October 2008) [...]
January 6th, 2009 at 6:39 pm
I love your last line, “it’s never too late to play & go outside the lines”. What a nice thought….