Sping semester ended last month, along with my first painting class. It was a rough, grueling yet exhilarating 18 weeks When the class began, I had absolutely no experience with oil paint and the last time I had handled a brush was in 3rd grade, painting macaroni noodles with kids' acrylic. I was terrified and massively jealous of the talents of my fellow students, many of whom were taking the Beginning Painting class simply to fulfill their course requirements.
18x24
Oil on canvas
The rewards of my efforts were very little during those first months. We made up color charts and gradients, still lives that did nothing but show me how poor my perspective and proportions were.
18x24
Oil on canvas
I stuck with it and with the Abstract assignment, something happened. I stopped caring so much about pleasing my professor, about getting the techniques just right. I stopped expecting a rigid recipe for flesh tones and started experimenting. Most importantly, I stopped looking at the work of my classmates and comparing and copying them. I allowed myself to experiment, I chose not to come to class until Critique day to avoid disparaging comments from others. I abandoned all expectations and rules, allowing myself to simply experiment with how the paint felt and looked and smelled. How it sat on the canvas and dripped or pooled, what marks I could make with sandpaper or a toothbrush or a leaf.
36x42
Oil, latex paint, turpentine on canvas
Once I had tackled the technical aspect of painting, I felt my conceptual ideas itching to come free. Something my professor said stuck with me. "Art is what happens after everyone leaves the studio." (I may be wrong, I have a habit of forgetting details.) Prior to this, I had stayed within "safe" "acceptable" subjects. My parents had always held that nudes were not art and the measure of an artists' success is seeing one's work hung in a coffee shop with a large price tag.
8x10
Oil on canvas
I took the plunge. I locked myself away in the garage and began painting. Many of my classmates wouldn't look at my work, some said I was doing it for the attention. I didn't care. The feeling of making work
I wanted to make was exhilarating. So this is what art is all about.
18x24
Oil on canvas
Two 15x30
Oil on canvas
I have no idea where my art is going from here. All I know is that I want to keep working, keep trying, keep improving. Today, I cleaned out my garage and found the painting I did on that first day of class. It is absolutely horrendous and I still remember that sinking feeling of fear and dread. I cannot paint, I thought. I can never learn to paint. Everyone else in class has taken art classes before. I can never paint like them.
8x10
Oil on panel
Its true. I'm no Picasso but that's ok. I think I'm learning to paint like me.
