When I was a young teen, I used to dabble with art – mostly charcoal pencils or oil pastels. Primarily I copied pictures I liked or tried my hand at exercises in the “Learn to Draw” books my aunt gave me for Christmas. But my talent was meagre, and insensitive art teachers in junior high soon persuaded me to pursue other interests.
I don’t think I ever tried watercolour, yet I am constantly drawn to watercolour originals and prints in art galleries and stores. It seems to me the most magical of art, that which captures nature most realistically, most perfectly in all its hues and subtleties.
There is not a morning sunrise that I do not long to paint – would that I could! There is something mystical in soft greys and blues of water and sky, ever changing as the sun climbs out of bed and stretches its rays. Magic happens as those rays, feeble at first then stronger, embrace the world and change red and pink to gold and yellow before flooding the bay with the full light of day. I wish that I was gifted enough to capture such beauty and splash it across my livingroom wall to brighten a gloomy day or calm a chaotic mind.
Here, from my sunrise walk with Oliver today, is the magic that paints my watercolour world: