Years ago, I saw a painting of a tufted titmouse by an artist I admired. I’d like to try painting that little bird, I thought, and proceeded to file that thought away only to emerge again today when I finally actualized it. 

One of the cutest of birds, this fellow seemed to be made for watercolor– soft, delicate. I must admit most of the best parts of this painting happened by accident. But I will give myself credit for this at least: showing up to the painting, being the vessel through which the happy accidents occurred. 

I’m still working on the outline for my upcoming watercolor workshop. I mean, what do I really know except how to actually sit in a room with my art supplies and get to the business of using them? That’s the whole secret, the entire trick. Most people who want to make art just don’t. They don’t need an art teacher so much as a loving little fire lit right under their rears. And how does one do that in a workshop?

 

 

 

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