It had been a hot minute since I last played around with my watercolours, and there was a painting which had been “work in progress” for far too long, so last Sunday I took out my paints, filled two jars with tap water, grabbed my favourite brush, and started to paint.
A friend had asked me to paint her favourite flower - peonies - and I was on the third piece. I wanted to attempt a couple of different styles on this commission, so I could give her a few options to choose from. The first piece I painted was done in a loose style, using a combination of watercolour and ink. This is my favourite style - it’s a bit more playful and dreamy, and the imprecise brush strokes and “careless” ink outlines give the piece a more spontaneous feel.
For the second piece, I attempted a more “realistic” style - painting the flowers in layers and in sections, to avoid the colours bleeding into one another. For me, this style is an exercise in patience. I have to wait for the layers to fully dry before starting on the next one, and I need to “jump around the page” so that I don’t paint next to a section which is still wet. It’s also an exercise in how to control the pigment-to-water ratio, and in how much paint to load on the brush. In short, it’s the type of painting where I utter a silent prayer at the start of every brush stroke.
The third piece was done in the same style as the second - but at a much bigger scale. I don’t know what I was thinking, attempting to paint a blown up image of tightly clustered peonies. Which means an entire page covered in nothing but petals. I persevered, painting one petal at a time, jumping around the page, and fighting the temptation to paint several tiny petals as one. This one took me a few days to finish the sketch, and several more to finish painting (mainly because I need to eat and sleep and do the chores. Also, I need to keep my two-year old alive).
I was quite happy with all three paintings, and even happier when my friend decided to buy all three!
My husband later asked whether I felt sad that I didn’t get to keep any of the paintings - something which never occurred to me before. I didn’t - and I still don’t - feel sad at all. I enjoyed painting the pieces. It was a learning process for me, and in some measure it was therapeutic.
And it gives me even more pleasure knowing that it now resides in someone else’s home, brightening up their space, and hopefully, their lives.