Do it till you need glasses

One of the most intimidating things we may ever attempt – probably right up there with jumping rope naked at high noon on the courthouse steps  – is to set up an easel and attempt to paint or sketch in front of the general public. Shrimp boat captains, street sweepers, shop keepers and a curious stream of those passing by may offer comments and suggestions on our artwork. Comments such as “Did you just take up painting?”

 

These are not encouraging words, and never ring well in an artist’s ear. In fact, it often serves to drive the artist back into his or her cave and it may convince the aspiring artist to quit altogether.

The truth is, we live in an uptight world. We are slaves to our wristwatches; we attempt to multitask until we don’t do any one thing particularly well. This mad pace we’ve adopted is the very attitude that sinks us in watercolor painting. We have to let go of this breakneck speed and gain a new mind, a fresh mind, a mind that allows a sense of play.

The surprising thing about teaching, for me, has been learning about this pervasive tension-based ‘block’ that keeps so many aspiring artists from ever finding their groove. I find myself telling students over and over to just leap into it, and just see what happens.

Bull riders at the rodeo never know exactly what will happen as they nod at the clown to release the bull. They expect a hell of a ride, at the very least. Likewise, we must let go of the need for absolute control as we nod at our own inner clown and slap down a brush loaded with wet paint onto paper. Who knows what will happen?

“Well, I just want it to be perfect,” I hear often. But what is perfect? In my mind, a perfect train wreck of a painting is a valid as a ‘perfect’ painting, where every daffodil is in bloom and every picket in the fence defined.
“Be imperfect. Be foolish. Be crazy, just 'be' painting,” I tell them. “Yes. You know what I’m about to say: Do it till you need glasses."