Yo. I'm an Art Class Dropout

Most of my friends thought I was pretty dumb in high school. It wasn't until graduate school that I discovered the arts, found my niche, and was ok with myself. But here, today, I am back in adolescence feeling dumb and sneaking out of class.

Christopher, from figure drawing

This spring, as you know, has been the season of the class.  Figure drawing has been spectacular. Maureen, Tyler, Barbara, and all the other models  have turned their trimmed, clipped, and Brazillian'd sides to me and I have responded with drawings that are--in my estimation--far more lovely than anything I ever did in college.   Then I picked up the second class--watercolor.

Oh my.  What is happening here?  I have painted for a long time, but I know nothing,nothing about the science of watercolor.  What makes those amazing transparent crimsons I see in my friends' work?  How do I achieve...luminosity?  What is "granulating??"  This is what I wanted when I signed up for beginning watercolor.

So with the first class, we learned to do a wash.  Three hours of layering, but that was ok. Today I went back with my Arches (pronounced Ar-chay) paper and San Francisco Slant palette and we learned how to shade a cylinder.  For three hours we looked at a standing paper cylinder, and we shaded it, and shaded it, and shaded it.

I  took two drawing boards and taped down six sheets of paper. Then I turned my paper cylinder sideways to see the stapled edge, and began with that. Next I put a transparent yellow background around my cylinder and layered it with green for sort of a spring-asparagus color. That is when the trouble started.

The teacher came to me and said, "What is going on here, something different? It was not a nice tone of voice, either, the voice I heard.  What is this line doing in the cylinder?  Using my best southern-girl voice I pointed out the stapled edge and explained that I was putting the stapled edge of the paper cylinder in my painting.

Then she made an announcement to the whole class:    "If you are seeing the stapled edge of your cylinder, turn it around to the back side so it won't be a part of your painting.

Lorraine, from figure drawing wk 4

I wanted to slink out like a chastened puppy.  So very slowly, I moved my paint box outside the classroom door.  Then when the teacher wasn't looking I took my bag full of  Windsor Newtons and Ar-chay paper and put it outside the door as well.  Then I came back, grabbed my car keys, and when her back was turned I made a break for it.

So. I will not be going back to watercolor class.  Instead on Monday afternoons from 2:30 until 5:30 I will go to Emma's Coffee Shop as I did today, where, for six dollars they let me pick from a lineup of low-end red wines (Yellowtail, Rosemount, Mondavi) and, with a smile the young Hispanic bartender will pour a glass that is incredibly full, brimming.  Almost flowing over.

Unchambered

This morning the park was quiet except for the sounds you hear any any woodland.  It was unchambered music: the scrape of eucalyptus limbs, and percussion of water and stone.  Expect the unexpected in the park, and this morning it was the jarring and repetitive curse of a hawk-sized crow.  You couldn't call it a song.