We Must Dance, You and I

I drew the girl on the left in July of last year. After that, I went every so often (over a matter of months) to the same Quiznos restaurant where the drawing was done. When I could, I would sit at the very same table, and paint on location. [The manager now greets me as a co-conspirator. He smiles and asks, "So who are you going to draw today?"]

In those days, I painted using a Koi watercolor brush set with nine colors. I never finished though. I'd painted all but the girl. So this weekend I painted the girl with my Winsor & Newton paints and a traditional brush.

More recently, I drew and painted the picture below, with a similar color scheme.






We take steps forward, and we take steps back. Learning to paint is nothing, if it is not a dance.

In this instance, while I appreciate some aspects of these sketches, there is so much I would like to do better. That's the way it should be, I guess.

This weekend I attempted to paint wildflowers for Valentine's Day. This, as you probably know, is not my usual thing. Suffice it to say that the weeds took over the field. Then they reached out from the paper, as weeds will do, and finished me off.

The weeds strangled me.

My final thoughts were these: It's happened again! I've forgotten how to paint! I never knew how to paint! I only know how to color! I should use crayons!!

I have since recovered with, by the way, a newfound respect for those who do that sort of thing. And I will try again.

In any event, my computer has H1N1 or some other virus, and I am sending it away for repairs. So I missed Shadow Shot Sunday, and Valentine's Day too. Today I am posting with another computer.

So belatedly I offer one rustic rose for the occasion.

Take it.

Place it between your teeth, and dance. Take one step forward and one step back, as all artists do.

And when you do, although math would seem to contradict, you will not be in the same place as before.

I was at an art show today. One artist offered this advice: "Stick with it."

And I will.

It's a Jungle Out There

A musician first learns the notes, then the scales, and then more complex principles of music. For watercolor, I think, I am beginning to learn the scales. I want to learn techniques that I can employ at will, and then by instinct.

So yesterday and today I have tried a few new things, including painting and scraping in watercolor with a palette knife and consciously lifting color. I practiced at home and then decided to set myself outside at a picnic table and paint en plein air while humming these new scales. I took the palette knife and even some brushes beyond my Koi waterbrush. I have gotten a bit too used to using the Koi rather than regular brushes. I also decided to use a strip of my Fabriani rough watercolor paper rather than the Moleskine. I had about an hour and a fifteen minutes to paint, and I felt rushed. In the end, the result was about what you'd expect. But that's okay. That is how we learn, right?

So I got home and stared at it for a while. I had only one choice, really, and that was to ink it. So I did something else that is new for me, and that is apply the ink after the watercolor, which is of course a perfectly legitimate thing to do. And it looked better after that.

So I've embarked for parts unknown - it's my paint safari through the jungle (city). I have my shotgun (paint brush), my machete (palette knife), my mosquito net (paper), my camouflage (paints), my binoculars (eyes), and my tour guide (new books on watercolor technique and on color).

What wild, hairy animals might we see? Who knows?

If you come along, be careful. It's a jungle out there.