I'm Just Mad About Saffron

It was an experiment, and still is, although I have a feeling I won't stay for the long haul. It's an oil painting class, and I started today, part of my effort to step out of my comfort zone, dabble in unfamiliar things, maybe even acquire a new skill or perspective.

The choice of subject, oil painting, had as much to do with schedule as interest, and I've tried my hand at it once before, enough to know I have no apparent affinity.

Jeanne lent me a few brushes, tubes of paint, and other supplies I'd need to get started. The outline said that the opening class would focus on the color yellow, so I tucked a lemon into my bag and some pictures of the hills a'flower in mustard and approached in a sunny frame of mind.

I enjoyed squeezing dollops of color onto a pallet board: cadmium yellow and yellow light, ocre d'or, burnt sienna, a dab of alizarin crimson...maybe what I like most is reading the names of the colors, then pressing out that first wondrous, oily droplet, and pushing the blobs around a bit, not asking anything in particular of them or understanding their special talents.

Perhaps I'm too timid, but by the time the instructor wrapped up his demonstration, I'd already concluded that painting is not going to become my form of expression. I brushed some bright wide curves of yellow on my canvas and stared at them.

Gorgeous color...what now? It doesn't bode well. Somewhere along the way to adulthood, my right brain went dormant and my inner artist abandoned me. At this point I'm almost immobilized. As I told Jeanne, basements and garage sales are full of failed paintings and I don't want to add my droppings to the general mess.

Jeanne's advice: "Do not be concerned about the destination, it is the journey with color you are embarking on - and it need not end up as yard sale flotsam - one simply removes the thin bit of cloth from the frame when it has been deemed 'irredeemable' - rips it to shreds, and staples a new clean canvas onto the board - and one is faced with a new day, and all the possibilities that offers."

My other artist-friend, Cele, wrote this: "..the process itself is truly the most significant source of pleasure. 'Bad', difficult, paintings are often lot more instructive than 'good', easy, paintings. And it's like the piano, you have to practice and practice! If you can find some enjoyment in what you are doing then why not keep going awhile? Painting is like life––some wonderful days, and some grim and miserable ones when you just want to quit."

Well, this day wasn't grim or miserable at all. I love looking at yellow and all it evokes. I just don't know what to make of it.