In all honesty, I’m absolutely an ogre when it comes to painting. Nothing ever looks right whenever a paintbrush happens to be in my hands and I’m expected to create “art” on a piece of paper. There’ll be parts that would look like colour had exploded on it and it’s nothing but a brown mess, or I’d paint so enthusiastically that the paper would simply rip apart. Again, painting isn’t and never will be a forte I can show off to anyone.
However, my horrific talent does not stop me from admiring the art of painting itself. There’s just something beautiful about mixing blobs of colours from a palette and creating an image from something that can only be seen and extensively understood from the mind of the artist. It’s those special and quiet moments a painter have as maker of a world others can’t see until it is ready and complete. Colours and shapes can mean different emotions, or they are memories or desired instances hoped to be engraved and kept prison in painting forever. It’s all personal. To me, painting is a way to express something we can’t easily explain or show to anyone. Words would do the trick but for some, they can only see for what they are. Words.
So in my case, you know, zero talent in painting and owning a cheap stock of watercolours, I can still paint despite the cringing odds. Even if my painting doesn’t end up looking like how I imagined it to be, it’s the closest thing I can do for others and myself to understand.
By the way, I’m still not going to pick up a paintbrush anytime soon. hehe