I finally completed my first oil painting in over three years, last Sunday. I've been painting in oils since I was seventeen, and it isn't particularly hard; in fact, I'd say it's one of the easiest mediums I've ever used. You can correct any of your mistakes, and just add layer after layer of paint, and if the paint is thick enough, even mold it so that it reflects light in a particular way. But there's one thing you need dollops of when you're painting in oils: patience. And I'm afraid the seventeen-year-old me was never particularly strong in that aspect, so my paintings were understandably sub-par. I knew I could produce better paintings; I just never had the patience to let the underpainting dry enough for me to produce a clear glaze or a thick impasto layer over it. I'd start it while the paint was still wet, and mess everything up. And then, I committed the cardinal sin of using turpentine for every layer to thin the paint, just so it would dry faster. All those people who've worked with oils know it takes about a week for the underpainting to dry thoroughly. As a result of using the turpentine, the paint would dry in just a day or two; but there would be only a thin layer of paint on canvas, with the texture of the canvas clearly visible under the painting, and the painting itself looking shabby and underdone. Consequently, I didn't make a lot of oil paintings, and gave up half-heartedly on something I'd started working on. The only painting I ever produced of note was when I was twenty, with college on. I'd made the painting in the middle of classes, and as there never was enough time to spend on the painting, it took a lot of time to paint it -- resulting in well-dried under layers, and one of the best paintings I'd ever made. It was a scene of village cricket: a bunch of men playing cricket on a cool meadow (although there were no clouds in the sky). That had remained my favorite painting (maybe in some ways it still is), but Sunday's effort well overshadowed that.
It was, simply put, a painting of a man and his son on a beach, looking out at the horizon. I took the inspiration from my own book, The Boy From Dunedin, and tried to recollect the clarity of the water in New Zealand as I painted it. Of course it didn't look like anything I'd thought it would look like; but it turned out to be a good piece of art nevertheless. I loved it. And the reason it turned out so well was because, it seems in those seven years since I started oil painting, I've gotten a good measure of paitience that I was lacking earlier. I would let each layer of paint dry before starting the new one. I applied a thick impasto layer of paint for the underpainting, and added thinner glazes on top. The result was magical, with significantly more depth than any of my earlier paintings had. I was proud of it. The yellow ocher of the beach, the turquoise-blue of the sea, the red shirt of the man, the green of the grass -- it all combined to make a striking combination. The only mess I made was the clouds, which look like storm clouds on an otherwise clear day. But I decided to let it ride, and call it "artistic impression", instead of what it really was -- a mistake! Haha. Hopefully my next painting will be far better, but here is my current painting nevertheless.
You know the old saying about kids in a candy store? (Though if I were a kid, I'd be more thrilled about going to the Wii section in a Gamestop store....) That's exactly how I get when I go to an art store. And this became evident to my poor roommate who tagged along with me today, when I went to the Co-op art store.
The Co-op art store is on The Drag, which is local UT lingo for Guadalupe. It's right next to the actual Co-op, and is my dream store. Impressive arrays of paints, brushes, canvases and other art equipment line the walls. Today, for instance, I was left staring open-mouthed at the very impressive line-up of Winsor & Newton's watercolors on the North wall of the store.
Okay, before this confuses anyone, no, I'm not a professional artist. I'm a computer scientist. But art is what I casually call my hobby. In reality, though, it's more than a hobby -- it's a passion, the very essence of my life, one reason why I think I'm still alive. When I'm stressed, I draw. When I'm sad, I draw. When I'm happy, I draw. When I'm....oh, you get the idea. I love art. I love drawing, though painting comes a close second. I've been drawing ever since I can remember. I learnt to draw before I learnt to write. So what I'm trying to tell is, that there's a reason why I behave like a caveman in an art store -- and not a distinguished caveman like the Geico one, but a real, uncouth caveman.
That's what happened today. My roommate, Annie, and I went to Chipotle grill on The Drag for lunch. While returning, I couldn't resist peeking inside the newly opened store. "Er......do you mind if we go in?" I asked Annie. She willingly agreed, not knowing, the poor thing, that it would take wild horses to drag me away from there. We went in, and I fell silent. Or rather, not -- I kept making gasping noises, as though I were choking. "No...no.....no...." I whispered incoherently. "Just look at this stuff, man!"
It's not like Annie wasn't impressed -- she was. But I suppose I tend to go overboard in such places. I ran over to a display of Winsor & Newton paintbrushes. I've only ever wanted W&N equipment since I was fourteen. I reverently lifted a fan brush -- used for washes in watercolors -- and ran in lightly back and forth in a sweeping motion across the stand where it was kept. Its bristles reacted to my slightest touch, and I almost wept.
I then went across to the paint section, on the North wall of the store. There was one of the most impressive array of watercolors I've ever seen -- W&N watercolors, Cotman and Artist varieties. The Artist one was a little too expensive for me, so I went for the Cotman ones. All the shades I'd ever dreamed about -- Phtalo Green, Cerulean Blue, Cadmium Red, Raw Sienna, Ultramarine.....they were all there. I was torn as to which ones to buy. I debated and debated and then debated some more, and finally settled on the Cerulean, Cadmium Red, Hooker's Green and Raw Sienna. I was on cloud nine, and nothing could bring me down -- except the bill, which did a marvelous job of it. All-in-all, though, four dream shades for less than $10 is a bargain in my eyes.
I came out of the store, pleased as a spoilt child that has just been indulged. In a way, I suppose I am, and I am the one spoiling myself. I can't help it, though. Shopping for art equipment is almost as therapeutic for me as drawing is.
Hmmm, maybe I can make another quick trip there soon.....
