This is not exactly public knowledge. But it's not a secret either.
I studied art in high school. And I loved it at first. I have always been overly selfcritical however. In my senior year, it only took one teacher who failed to encourage me and support me as I needed him to. By the time I turned eighteen, I had a miniature burnout. I was not alone, by the way. Of my eight classmates, only one went on to pursue a career in the field we'd all originally chosen. She restores sculptures and guilding details on historical buildings for a living now.
I, along with the others, had had enough. I was about to drop out of high school, two months before graduation.
My English teacher, Mrs Deweerdt, rallied her troops and convinced me to keep going. I owe her a lot. She was determined to fight me tooth and nail on this and thankfully, she won.
I found another field of interest and went to college to become a medical imaging technician. I love my job and have never regretted the choice.
I was fed up with everything artistic and made my Mum get rid of everything I'd done in my time in art school. I strongly suspect her of salvaging a few things here and there, but most of it is gone.
Aquarel, or watercolour, was very much my strongest technique and I used to love it. But in the 15 years since high school graduation, I touched a brush twice, I think.
Until last week. A discussion in the general channel over at The Writer's Block ended up with me mentioning my training in arts and @myrockandocean asked me to paint her something.
I gently refused at first. But after two days, my hand began to itch for a paint brush. And so I painted her a flower. My favourite flower: a poppy.
I hated it at first. Its flaws stared back at me from the paper.
I have always been less forgiving of my own faults than I am of the flaws of others. I can't stand to look at my work and see a mistake.
But @myrockandocean loved it. My Mum, who was always my biggest fan, loved it too. Maybe they're right. Some others over at the Writer's Block have seen it. They didn't hate it either.
After all, I've always believed that art was never meant to be perfect. I only have a hard time believing it when is my own work starting back at me. Maybe I should start trying a little harder.
By sharing it with all of you, for starters.
My watercolour palette was thrown out with my paintings, but this was done with watercolor markers. I diluted the ink with a wet brush.
I didn't document the stages in which I worked, but I'll try to remember next time.
So. I was nervous about this but it didn't hurt at all. Thank Goddess for that.
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Hugs
Tiny
