Last year, as a Birthday gift to myself, and inspired by
this beautiful book, I signed up for a painting class.
I've always wanted to draw and paint. Or at least, for as long as I can remember. Art was not my recognised "thing" growing up though and when I was in my early thirties, I took myself off to my first art class since primary school. I was following a quiet but insistent voice that had become harder and harder to ignore. I loved attending at first, being exposed to the creativity of others and having space to dabble in my own drawings and paintings, although my lack of skill felt frustrating and limiting. To be expected, I told myself. I'd never had any training. It would come. My art teacher - a lovely, professional fine-artist - worked hard to encourage me and provide me with technique. I practiced. My skills grew but not in line with my hopes (and expectations). I really struggled to turn out realistic and recognisable shape and form, to master shadowing and perspective... I never really did. I still haven't.
It became a sometimes painful undertaking. What started as a joyful exploration turned into an energy-draining exercise. I accepted that my creativity's not likely to be expressed in a beautifully executed charcoal/pencil drawing or a superbly controlled watercolour, how ever much I might admire these. I was disappointed with myself. I accepted that I'd perhaps not master the proper proportions of the human form within this lifetime. Stick people still challenge me. We worked on small canvases with limited palettes because materials were expensive and I was not brave or bold enough to venture beyond this format. 12"x18" is still the largest I've ever tackled. I made the mistake of sharing my fledgling attempts with someone whose opinion I valued (not sure why with hindsight) and he was even more critical of them than I. I became disheartened. The harder I tried, the less satisfying it felt and the more tightly wound and less associated with joy the whole process became for me. I stopped looking forward as much to going to class. When I changed countries, I was sorry to leave it behind but I haven't attended one since. Eventually, I stopped painting altogether, even in private. I wanted to master the rules before I felt I could legitimately break them. After all, Picasso and Kandinsky painted the most exquisitely realistic portraits and landscapes before adopting their distinctive break-out styles.
To put this in some realistic context too: I come from a family of wonderfully talented creative souls - many of whom do have artistic educations and amazing skills. That can be a pretty intimidating. Not that they've ever suggested my efforts are less worthy but I could see the difference. I compared myself and came up wanting. Rationally, I knew I would not catch up. Emotionally, that left me feeling inadequate.
But... the urge to paint remained. And I have changed. Am changing.
I don't have the time now or (more honestly) the inclination to practice drawing finely wrought and detailed botanical studies before I move onto expressionistic versions, like a Monet waterlily.... I might never create something that anyone else will even recognise as a specific flower species, however abstract. I can practice, I can improve. But it's not the thing for me. I'm just not that kind of artist. And... that's okay. More than okay.
Self-evident one might think but it took me a while to truly accept this.
It goes deeper than just being unable to catch up on a painting boat I missed in youth too. This is something I've only properly come to understand in the past few years and applies to my life in general, hence the changes I've made over the past year to my career path. Pursuing one's inclinations, being true to type* sometimes at least, is a good thing. In painting specifically, this reveals itself if I do manage to ignore the loud and critical voices in my head in favour of the quieter deeper whispers, which does happen occasionally. I'm actually much happier (and always have been, I now recognise!) when I just smoosh paint around and don't worry about what it's going to be at the end, how polished the technique is, or who will approve of it. Contrary to my early thoughts on the subject, liking my own creations and enjoying the creative process is not so much about being able to convert what I imagine in advance or what I observe in the real world into something detailed or recognisable on paper or canvas. It's about expressing mood. And playing with colour. And revelling in abstraction and symbolism. I felt this instinctively all those years ago but rationalised it (my habitual mode) as lack of talent or, perhaps worse, to excuse my lack of effort and commitment to practice. I don't mean to suggest that I'm now a Picasso or a Kandinsky in the making but if I pick my medium appropriately, I'm more likely to approach the range they had... and that pleases me. Photography allows me to capture the representative images that I cannot draw or paint. And even then, I naturally tend towards the evocative rather than the journalistic... I understand better why this is now.
I still wish I could draw and paint well (i.e. realistically) and there's always likely to be something of a tension because I'd like to be accomplished in this way. I acknowledge now though that's mostly because there's satisfaction (and ego and pride) for me in learning to do things "well" and being able to demonstrate that. In this case though it's both counter-intuitive and counter-productive. I'm still working through this but I'm learning to listen in to the quieter voice, to trust it more. And I'm consciously looking for ways to create space for it to breathe and grow. So, to my choice of painting class... (I know, long way 'round to it or what?!)
I've been hankering after this class (or one like it) for ages and believe that the approach we'll be exploring, as
demonstrated by our lovely guide, Flora Bowley, will encourage and enable my intuitive-colour-smooshing-happy-to-see-what-emerges artist to fully embrace and enjoy the process. We'll be working on huge (by my standards) canvases and using lots of colourful acrylics, which I'm told are very forgiving of a lack of practiced technique. Flora encourages her students not to entertain the notion of "mistakes" and to start, not with the end in mind, but to set aside expectation and to work with what emerges.... I think this will be freeing in all sorts of ways for me. I'm hoping that it will enable me to release a lot of the this residual painting-is-for-real-artists-and-I'm-not-one baggage and to escape into that colourful, creative flow I love, more often... not to mention, providing an antidote to the stresses of everyday work and the relentless grey of winter. I'm a bit nervous and I know I'll be challenged by it - the habits of a lifetime are hard to unlearn and the inner critic hard to silence - but mostly, I'm very excited.
We started today, with some thoughtful intention setting. Tomorrow we put paint on canvas. Yesterday, as I was getting the materials and space ready, I ended up testing some colours on my dropcloth. I also painted my toenails in honour of the occasion and, because I couldn't choose between turquoise and purple, I used both. After all, what does it matter? There are no mistakes and it's what felt right at the time. They make me happy. As does the rainbow underfoot....
I am ready.
*
It's interesting (well to me it is - I'm fascinated by what makes people, including me, tick) because some of the pieces of this puzzle really fell into place for me when I undertook my MBTI practitioner training a few years ago. I'm what's identified as an -N-P type. I'd known that for many years before (I was "typed" on two previous occasions by employers) but the implications of it were not fully clear to me until I studied the tool and dynamics of preference in more depth. My academic and corporate experiences have provided me with useful skills (even habits) for working well (if not always satisfyingly) in a predominantly -S-J business environment but, when it comes to art... it really doesn't work for me. I don't enjoy it and I don't experience much benefit from it. As described above, it disengages and paralyses me instead.
The way I perceive, process and communicate information and operate most effectively is when I'm called upon for (w)holistic insight and behaviours unconstrained by too much convention and control.
As an N, I'm stifled by lots of detail - more at home in the realms of abstraction, the conceptual, and big-picture connections. I'm the person in a group who may not recall facts and figures or concrete details but will distill patterns and trends, capture the gist, or synthesise meaning. This can infuriate my (unaware) S counterparts because it might seem like I'm forgetful, or just can't be bothered to take notice and remember. But it's not that at all. I am observant. I use my senses just as keenly. How I typically experience, apply, recall and share that input differs from the way someone with an S-preference typically does. And it has its uses. I'm not the person you want as a witness to a crime though - big, dark, with four wheels is probably as much as I'll have noticed about the getaway vehicle...
Thanks to my P preferences, I'm also quite comfortable in a nebulous, option-laden and emergent situation. I enjoy seeing how things unfold, going with the flow, rather than following an organised plan to a predetermined outcome. Not a preference I can afford to bring to complex project management situations (and I thank my -S-J learning in these situations) but that I like to follow when I learn or travel for pleasure, for example. And, if not something to be explored and given free rein in art, then where? This time, I believe I'm exploring an -N-P-friendly creative process. It'll be interesting to see what happens.
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