“The Mindful Joy of Painting”
A blogpost by Lisa Williams Kline
All of my life, when I’ve seen watercolors in art galleries, I’ve admired them, and said to myself, “Gosh, I would love to try doing that.” But I’ve never done it.
Many who paint with watercolors have such command, representing a cat or a tree with one bold stroke. Others paint in an almost ethereal way, capturing the colors of the sky or a flower with incredible precision. I have gasped at the beauty of the renderings, at the various ways painters interpret this wondrous world. They coax me into places that I would like to inhabit. But I’ve never had the courage to try.
Finally, one day, since we’ve been staying close to home during Covid, after I had completed drafts of all my writing projects and set them aside to let them breathe, after I had trimmed all the bushes in our yard, after cleaning out all our closets and donating piles of clothes and books, I found myself with time and anxiety on my hands. I decided to try to paint a flower. Just a flower.
And I decided not to tell anyone about it just in case it didn’t work out.
The first thing I did was to watch an online watercolor class for beginners to find out what supplies I’d need. I realized quickly that artists are very particular about their supplies, unlike us writers, who, in my experience, don’t spend too much time talking about what kinds of computers or pens or notebooks we use (though some do).
Then I made a visit to the craft store, where I carefully and with great anticipation chose a pad of the type of paper that was recommended, a drawing pencil and an eraser (I was very sure I’d need an eraser!), a small set of paints, and three brushes in recommended sizes. I didn’t want to spend too much money – again, in case this didn’t work out. But some of the online teachers were using adorable ceramic palettes and I was desperate to have one so I ordered one of those, too.
I brought my supplies home and spread them out with a flutter of excitement. I ran my fingers over the surface of the paper, noting that one side was smoother than the other. I examined the brush heads, wondering if I’d gradually learn how to use the various sizes. I studied the fourteen pots of color in my new paintbox.
Most of the online watercolor lessons focus on a particular painting, and the teacher guides the participants through the steps needed to complete it. Being my usual ornery self, I didn’t want to paint what the teacher was painting. I wanted to photograph and paint my own. So I went out into our yard and took pictures of some roses and daylilies that seemed to be within my beginner’s wheelhouse.
That first day was so exciting. I placed the paper flat on the desk and, consulting the photo on my phone, laboriously sketched a few of the roses that I’d photographed. I knew the sketching was important but was itching to actually use the paints. I drew a few roses, zooming in on my photograph so I could draw the petals and stamens and pistils properly. When I first applied paint to paper, I was skittish, painting with excess caution and very little paint. But I did learn a few tips from the online classes about how to correct mistakes using water, and how to dampen and lift paint in places you want to be lighter or reflecting light. I ended up being excited and pleased by my first effort. Most of all, the process of doing it was so much fun!
Photo and painting by Lisa Williams Kline
And I couldn’t help it, even though I told myself I wouldn’t tell anyone, like a little kid, I ran downstairs to show my painting to my husband, and took a photo of it and sent it to our daughters. They were all kind and supportive.
But I was determined that with painting, I wouldn’t worry about whether I was any good the way I do with writing. Instead, I’d focus on the meditative aspect of it, the way it relaxed and calmed me during this time of stress due to Covid and the election. I would enjoy the mindfulness of painting – of noticing how many petals a flower has, the angle of the light, the way a tree loses its bright leaves in the fall.
I also tried painting our pets, and have gotten so much pleasure out of trying to capture the expression on an animal’s face. For a few days, as I study the animal and paint it, I become more tightly bonded to that animal. I have now badgered friends and family members for photos of their pets so I can paint them and they, good sports that they are, have obliged me. Painting an animal is so rewarding, like shining a light and saying, “Look, every living being is important and beautiful.”
I’ve done dozens of paintings by now. And coincidentally, I’ve discovered with surprise that several of my writer friends also paint, and we’ve had such fun discussing supplies and techniques. I am improving, but how good I am is not the important thing. As Anne Lamott says about writing, it’s the process of doing it which brings joy.