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A Story about Art

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So, rather from lack of things to write about really, I’ve decided to write about art and the art of creating art. Oh. And the development of skills of art. Mostly my own experiences, but let’s pretend it’s about someone else shall we? So, a series of short stories…

I’ve always been interested in drawing. I remember when I was eight-years-old, I would draw three inch tall female figures. They would always be standing stock still and detail emerged mostly from the clothing rather than the person itself. However, they were not completely hopeless: despite it all, they had an appropriate structure. The hips were in the right place and the shoulders were rounded off properly. So even at that age, I felt myself obliged to draw whenever the urge hit me. Of course, I was by no means perfect-or very good at that.

Improvement came in time, with the introduction of structured classes on technique. I moved on from drawing the childish doodles to sketching still life and ornaments. This had its own hardships: things that are unique tend to have difficult structures and proportion. This is especially true for symmetrical ornaments, where I often found one side out of place far too late to correct it. And so I gradually improved, and with my development, came great satisfaction and enjoyment.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t live solely on pencil sketches. No, of course I must paint! And paint I did, and fail I did. I was never good at painting: in the past I had attempted watercolours. Watercolours are seen as rather childish-they are packaged for children and sold with children in mind. But a child cannot harness the liquid transparency of watercolours with any expertise. The drawings come out faded and lacking in structure, which is why it is difficult to use.

I was not using watercolours in class, however. We used poster paint: a thick, gooey substance that lays thick and globby on the page. It is much easier to use, but as I had been raised on the simplistic, no-mixing watercolours, I had trouble adjusting. My paintings were watery and thin and the colours melded into dirty yellows and browns. They had something of a structure and character, but were destroyed by poor technique.

That’s it for now! Back with more soonish 🙂


About otakufool

I just want to let my opinions be heard, and let my writing be viewed.

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