Last Saturday I did the craziest thing. I took a crash course in watercolor. Learning to paint (officially) with watercolors has been something that I’ve wished to do for years, but I always put it off with the idea of “some day.”
I used to watercolor a lot when I was little, usually sans clothing, with my bare butt seated on the bottom step of a kitchen step-stool and my paints and paper resting on the top step. I spent hours there, and I cherished that feeling of fascination and wonder as I dabbed my brush into the brilliant square of paint and then onto the paper. The beauty, and frustration, of watercolor was that there were a million variations of color depending on the amount of paint I used with the amount of water.
The night before my six-hour class, I had a fit of nerves. I fantasized about canceling. Maybe I’d come down with the stomach flu. Maybe the teacher would. Maybe I’d fall victim to a spontaneous crippling disease that would make the use of my right hand impossible. The bottom line was that I was afraid; afraid that I would have no talent, that my teacher would deem me unreachable, that I’d be so hopelessly clueless that I’d be laughed out of the studio. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s how I felt. The anxiety was the result of my inner critic. Now don’t pretend that you don’t have one. We ALL do.
Our inner critics keep us from doing truly stupid things, like robbing a bank. They also mire us in fears that prohibit us from following our passions. So you want to unearth your sketch pad and pencils? Your inner critic tells you that you have no talent for drawing, so you tell yourself that you’ll sketch when you have more time. Or you’re inspired to learn how to play the flute, but your inner critic whispers that you’re too old to learn something as complicated as a new instrument which effectively keeps you from ever darkening the door of the music store.
Thanks to The Artist’s Way I learned to identify, and even draw, my inner critic and to learn when his advice was useful (I won’t ever build a bomb) and when to work past it. My mom called it “feel the fear and do it anyway.” And that’s what I did.
If I had any doubts about the synchronicity of the universe, they were dispelled when I met my teacher, Lisa. The first thing she said to us was, “thank you for ignoring your inner critic and showing up today.” I wanted to throw my arms around her and plant a big smackeroo on her cheek. I couldn't imagine a better way to begin an introduction. As it turned out, she taught a study course on The Artist’s Way to boot.
All of this was terribly helpful as she maneuvered us through the syllabus of the class. She kept a fast pace on purpose to prevent us from stopping and obsessing about our imperfect painting skills. She encouraged our mistakes, reminding us that only the act of putting paint to paper would make us better. At one point she pointed at my landscape and said, “I know you think that’s a mistake, but I love it.”
I can’t adequately express the joy I felt painting. There was the treasured reconnection with an old part of myself that I had almost forgotten and the excitement of learning something new. And the awe of creation…I surely won’t forget that. I am by no means a good watercolorist, but I loved every minute of it anyway.
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