Some kids grow up dreading math and science classes, instead eagerly anticipating outlets like art, where creative expression is encouraged. Me? I’d sign up for calculus right now to avoid art class. I’ve always preferred to take care of my creative expression through writing. You draw the picture and I’ll write the thousand words it’s worth.
For some reason things like drawing and painting just don’t come naturally to me. Actually, they don’t really come to me at all. My brain knows what it wants to do, but there are apparently many roadblocks between there and my hands. Why the meandering philosophical journey into my childhood, you ask? Because I was recently tasked with attending a Colors and Cabernet painting class at the Kimball-Jenkins Estate for an Insider assignment.
Stepping outside of my comfort zone isn’t necessarily new territory. A handful of my assignments have provided readers a written and illustrated tour through many of my phobias. Like the time I had to take a Zumba class in front of other living humans (is Zumbaphobia a thing? I think it is), or the time I had to climb more than three feet off the ground up a rock wall.
Other assignments have simply given me the opportunity to perform activities I am notoriously bad at, like square dancing and billiards (not at the same time, though). Oddly enough, when I found out I would be attending the Colors and Cabernet class, I wasn’t sure which category it belonged in.
Was I scared of it or just planning to be terrible at it?
Yes?
Scared is a bit strong. And the fear wasn’t of creating a painting but rather letting other people see it. I can paint you a picture with words, but I’ve never really been able to paint a picture with paint. It’s one of a handful of differences between me and Michelangelo.
The idea behind the Colors class is simple: an artist guides a group of students through the same painting, step-by-step. The class I attended was charged with recreating an image of the fabled Green Martini. Some of my butterflies were alleviated the minute I walked in the door and saw that our instructor, Karina Kelley, had sketched the basic outline of the work on our canvases.
That was sort of the highlight of the night, though. In fact, I’m not sure the canvas ever looked better than it did before I first touched it with a brush.
This is hardly an indictment on the class; quite the contrary, actually. Kelley was an excellent instructor, providing critical pointers on how to mix colors, which brush to use at which time, which direction to move the brush to create an intended effect. She wasn’t just telling us to slap color on a canvas; she was educating the class on some of the nuances of painting, in a completely non-intimidating way. As someone who had literally never painted anything outside of grade school, I felt comfortable following her instructions.
I also got to hear the phrase “get your scrumble on” when Kelley taught everyone the fine art of scrumbling (a technique for layering color to create depth).
As the class moved on, I quickly learned my strengths (holding a paint brush and looking quizzically at the canvas) and my weaknesses (painting.)
The parts I struggled with the most were the fine details. I realized I had no idea how to gently illustrate outlines or blend two parts of the image together seamlessly. Painting the lettering on the Green Martini sign was a harrowing experience. It was interesting to watch Kelley and my neighbor in the class, Nathan Wyckoff, deftly move through tight spaces to create a beautiful image. Let’s just say mine lacked that refinement.
I wasn’t beating myself up about it – my finished product would be the first painting I’d created since grade school – but it was inspiring to see how effortlessly experienced painters completed steps that I found painstaking.
In the end, I wound up with a painting. Is it the worst painting that’s ever been created? I’d say no, although I will admit the farther away from it you are standing, the better it looks. It may not look like the Green Martini, but the little sign I painted on the front says it is, so that’s something.
In the end, I felt little of the fear I expected to, and that’s a credit to the atmosphere created in the class. Students are encouraged to bring drinks and snacks, and there was no pressure from Kelley, who was equally comfortable guiding me and the much more experienced and talented Wyckoff. It was the kind of environment accomplished and novice artists alike can feel at home in.
And actually, perhaps painting a bar was a good first project for me. If you happen to stop by one or two of them before you take a peek at my finished product, it tends to look a lot better.
