|What I spent five hours doing with my paints instead of painting. Plus a sample selection of my new paints.|
It started with a discount voucher: which happened to be contained within a catalogue. Two things I have a difficult time resisting. Add in the fact that it was the biannual art supplies catalogue from Ken Bromley’s, promising a five pound discount IF I spent fifty-five pounds, and that it happened to coincide with my recent desire to extend the range of paints which I own, and I was basically sunk - Titanic, meet iceberg: Lisa, meet paint.
To elucidate further, this means that I have just spent at least two weeks, that’s TWO WHOLE WEEKS (even I cannot quite believe it), trying to decide which new watercolour paints to buy.
How, in the name of Van Gogh, does a person take so long to make such a decision? I mean, we’re talking paint here, not whether or not I should have a kidney transplant. It defies belief; it defies logic; it defies the nature of time, space, and the laws of physics. But defy all those things I have done, because that’s what I do. Just don’t ask me how - I’m as baffled as you.
It wasn’t my intention to take so long - but then, as I am slowly learning, nothing I intend ever actually translates into action. In fact, you can guarantee that the moment anything even vaguely resembling a desire or intention escapes my subconscious and manifests itself either as thought or word, it will sink without trace. Like the Titanic (I think I see a theme here).
My actual ‘intention’ was to briefly (I obviously have no grasp on the meaning of the word brief) peruse a few art sites with which I’m familiar, in the misguided belief that they would aid me in simplifying and clarifying what to choose. Already I begin to see the flaw in my argument. Why would I need someone else to tell me how to choose paint? It’s not like I’m a complete novice anymore: I know the kind of colours that I like; I know the kind of paintings that I prefer doing.
But no, all of that knowledge goes out the window because, you see, it’s not about the paint colour - it’s about the pigment. (Yes, that was just the tip of the iceberg. No, I couldn’t see the rest of it, hidden beneath the sea of paint waiting to sink me). And for that I needed an ‘expert’, which required more research: which translates as more time spent on the internet. Hence two weeks of “research” - more commonly known around here as another obsession.
So, I may not have been doing a lot of painting (nothing new there then), but I now know an awful lot about paint and pigment. Of course, I can barely recall most of the details, given that I’ve saturated my brain so much that most of it seems to have dribbled out of my ears.
But I did eventually buy some paints, and then proceeded to avoid actually using them for their intended purpose. Instead I spent two days ‘testing them out’, and boring myself into a near-catatonic stupor in the process - because, once again, I’d read a load of advice from a bunch of non-autistic artists, all saying the same things about how useful these exercises are to the improvement of one’s art: which translates in my mind as “it’s what ‘proper’ artists do”.
Oh God, when will I learn that I come from a different ‘planet’, and what works for them doesn’t work for me in quite the same way! Ah well, it’s done now. Next I just need a few new brushes... Oh lawks, I think I see another iceberg looming. *scrambles for lifeboat*