Simply For The Art Of Watercolor

As, I wandered through the little shops lining the main street, in the quaint New England town of Groton, Massachusetts, one particular store caught my attention. Its delightful storefront window decorated with all sorts of home decor and holiday gifts, called to me. Lately, I am completely drawn to table settings. I love the artful way they tell the stories of our most cherished gatherings. And as I meandered around the little shop, it did not disappoint. Sparkly Christmas decorations, inspirational holiday tables, and all the clever little gift ideas! Everywhere I looked was like candy for my eyes!

Yet, once again I found myself standing in the tiny room off to the side, surrounded by art supplies. I stood there staring at the watercolor paints, feeling the urge to buy some. But I have all these paints at home, I thought, trying to convince myself not to pick some up and head straight to the cash register. But just then, a little book caught my eye, and as I reached across the shelf to pick it up, I realized it was a watercolor workbook. Well, I certainly don’t have one of these at home, I thought as thumbed through the pages.

As I wrote in a previous blog post, “The Art of Curiosity,” I had been looking for a way to bring some fun into my “a little to predictable” life, and I had brought some art supplies up from the basement, which ironically, just happened to be watercolor paints. 

I had set my intention to do some painting, though I hadn’t really done much else but think about it. I guess I was kind of waiting to see what the universe had to say about it. But speaking of it, it did, because I had been looking for a way to start painting again, and this little book was perfect! So I scooped it up and off to the cash register I went.

For the first few days, the little workbook just stayed in the bag, then it came out of the bag only to lay on the kitchen table for a couple more days. I don’t know why, but I was a bit intimidated by it. I didn’t want to make any mistakes, or mess up the book. And then my husband inquired, “are you going to do anything with that, or just let it sit there?” I’m going to paint!” I snapped, “I just haven’t had time.” Of course, I had time, I was just afraid to start. I didn’t want to make a mistake.

But by day three, I decided I was just going to go for it. After all, what is the worst that could happen, I thought. So I make a mistake, there are a lot more pictures left in the book, and that’s how we learn right? I mused to myself, as set up my paints and opened the workbook.

As I nervously dipped my brush into the water, and started to paint, something interesting started to happen. I slowed down, grew patient, and as I swirled my brush around in the water, dabbing the colors on to the paper, my mind grew quiet. I started to loose myself in the very act of painting. I felt calm and grounded, no ruminating about daily problems, the dinner that had to be made, or the chores left to finish. Just me and the colors and shapes and the delightful way the paint spread across the paper, with each new brush stroke. 

Suddenly without warning, an hour had passed, the sun had sunk deep into the horizon and the house had grown dark. And I was happily surprised with a painting. Huh, it’s not bad, I thought, as I pack up my things and put them back in the cabinet. I guess the Universe had something to say after all, and all I had to do with listen!