The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Struck Gold written @ 9:33 PM on October 13, 2003 I showed my drawing professor the painting of the swans I'm doing for my mother as a Christmas present after class today. I had been hoping that he would give me a critique and tell me what I could do to improve it. After working on it for a few weeks, I considered what I had done as being completely finished, but I always like to leave room to correct things I may have missed or improvements. He took one look at it and was blown out of the water. It was completely contrary to the suggestions I had hoped for. "You are a painter. You are a colorist. You have a style that's a mix of Turner and Renoir." He continued to talk about the work of Renoir and the other Impressionists and began to relate it to the painting. Me? I couldn't believe he was comparing me to Renoir! This was truly a watershed moment in my artwork. He talked about how color seemed to come so naturally in this painting, that it wasn't about the swans or the colorful watery environment they inhibited-- it was more about bringing to art a joy to life, a happiness to living. I said quietly, "That's it. That's what I learned while doing this painting. My style and purpose in my work is to bring to the viewer some peace of mind and happiness. I wanted to show how there is so much to invest in in this world, that even in the simple pictures like, say, swans on a lake, you could look to the picture time and time again and feel that energy and life." I paused for a moment and comprehended what I had said. With those words I finally realized what my art is meant to do in this world. I found my purpose. I heard M say, "Yes." My professor said, "There is definitely a vitality here, and the composition is unusual. Most of the time you see swans or other lake scenes portrayed as landscapes. You can usually see the curve of the lake, the trees or environment, or even the banks." An acquaintance of mine added, "But you leave it up to the imagination to suppose what the environment looks like. The only hint you give is the shadowing in the water." It was then that I realized that although class was over, there were students sitting around staring at the painting. I would go so far as to say they were transfixed. I was flattered. My professor commented on the subtle coloring and the many layers of oil paint. He told me that my style was very much like the Impressionists except it leaned toward abstract coloring. "I would go so far as to say it's an exhibition piece," he said. I paused. "Really?" "Yes. You didn't see it, but Kevin--" the painting professor "-- walked in, saw it in poor light, and was still stopped dead in his tracks." "Seriously?" I almost cried. "What does it say when a student of mine walks in and I compare her to Renoir?" he muttered. I stared at my work. I guess I had looked at it so long that it didn't hold the same magic for me as it did for them. I saw a puzzle, a balancing act, a code of color that was meant to be cracked like a safe so you could retrieve its gold. I tried to see it as they saw them. I finally looked at what I did and saw my niche. It wasn't a painting about the swans after all. It was about how I felt about life. It was a self-portrait in a small way. "You need to make a frame for it," my professor said. "Lattice. Maybe you can find lauan in the theater department. Perhaps some molding to go around the lattice. You can stain it, paint it, personalize it so it fits the piece." At one point I looked at my watch and realized that the students and my professor had been studying my painting for over an hour after class had let out. When finally the critique ended, I still could not believe what had taken place. I approached my drawing professor and said, "But is there anything you think I can improve in it? Anything I should consider changing?" He looked at the painting in my hands and said, "Only that I want to see more just like it." When I walked back to the dorm this afternoon, all my troubles seemed forgotten. I was high on Cloud Nine. I looked to tomorrow and tomorrow and I tried to imagine what pictures I would paint and how I could only grow and blossom from here on out. I am a painter. I am a colorist. I should have known this when I did my still life of vegetables and my first acrylic self-portrait in the eleventh grade. I should have known this when my oil painting of a chair was disqualified from that art contest two years ago because it appeared to be "a forgery" of a rare Hopper. All I could think about was telling my mom that I received the best compliment of my entire life. But I decided not to call her. I didn't want to give her any pictures in her mind that could be contrary to what was reality. I want her to be surprised on Christmas morning and know the magic the students must have seen. Somehow I've got to tell her I don't want to be a graphic design major anymore. But perhaps that's too hasty a decision to make. I don't know yet. I've got to serious consider things before I proceed. I think I'll simply work the rest of the semester on paintings and see where I stand by December with my work. If I have really struck some gold, I'll talk about it with my parents. If it was inspired dumb luck, I'll keep to the old path. I'm on scholarship after all; it should be my perogative to choose my path. Hmm... Let's see what the Tarot has to say about my situation... To be continued, friends...
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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