I’m a dabbler. The pattern goes like this: I hear a story on the radio or happen upon an article or see a TV show and there it is. I feel the call. My pulse quickens. I have a sudden urge to find out everything I can about my new obsession. I look for a class to take. I read about the subject. I buy supplies. I’m all in, sure that I will stick with it this time. I pursue it doggedly for awhile, then gradually my interest tapers and ultimately I stop doing it altogether. In the process, l have left behind a trail of unfinished work, half completed journals, abandoned web sites, cameras, meditation cushions, and countless “how to” books and art supplies.
My latest dabble is watercolor painting. In this case, it wasn’t a radio or TV show or a random article that drew me in. This time I have Facebook’s algorithms to blame. My feeds started to continually show me lovely watercolors accompanied by poetry. Reader comments to posts suggested that other budding artists had taken up the brush and had fulfilled their dream. Whether by monitoring my browser searches or by mental telepathy, Facebook discovered that I was a new retiree and determined I might be looking for a hobby to keep me busy.
Mind you, though I have a secret desire to be an artist, I have never shown any aptitude for it. My artwork never evolved past crude drawings of houses, suns and rainbows. In the past, I got average grades in art and teachers never encouraged me. Still, I hoped that I had a hidden untapped talent and that with the right teacher, I would “get it” and this skill would be magically unleashed.
Before I had even lifted a brush, I envisioned myself with other artists I had admired on trips, wearing a wide brimmed hat, brush in hand, painting plein air, around here, in France, the Sierras. I imagined that I would capture landscapes like the ones I’ve admired. Now, having never taken a class or shown any aptitude for painting, I had decided that being a watercolor artist would be my retirement identity. Taking this delusion a step further, I envisioned myself as the subject of a profile in AARP, you know the kind in which they profile people who have an amazing “third act.”
When I stopped daydreaming about my future self, I realized I needed some structure so I signed up for a class and then went into equipment buying mode. This is all part of the immersion process for me. I spent hours combing the web for supply recommendations to get myself equipped for my newfound interest. To supplement my classroom learning, I searched for tutorials on YouTube, followed Facebook “watercolors for beginners” groups, followed Pinterest groups, took screenshots of watercolorists work I like as examples to emulate. I ordered several books from acclaimed teachers. Armed with the right supplies, I was confident that I would succeed and thrive as a watercolorist.
Then I went to the class.
By the second or third class I started to realize how much effort it is going to take to become really good at this! Still I made a vow to myself that this time would be different. I will stick to it for the long haul. I won’t give up on an interest like I have in the past just because it’s too hard.
In class, I couldn’t help but compare my progress to the others. Even though I knew that several people in the class either took it before or had a background in watercolors, I felt my progress was too slow. The teacher who tried to be encouraging I guess, spent more time with me than the others. I felt remediated though, rather than supported. The will to become an artist was there but the innate talent hadn’t yet emerged under this teacher’s tutelage.
Back at home, I set up my dining room table to accommodate all my supplies. I had a dedicated art area so was confident that this would guarantee my success.
For a few months, I painted. Sometimes I’d do a couple of small images a day and started to building a portfolio. I felt proud that I could thumb through my images and say “I created that.” It was so satisfying to watch the picture develop on the page. I started to move away from the tutorials and did things on my own. I realized landscapes, people, and florals were not my thing but patterns, especially repeating ones, were.
Then something familiar happened. I stopped painting every day. Initially, a day would go by and I would vow to make up for it the next day. I’d stick with it again. Then more and more days went by without me picking up a brush. When I went back, it was like I had to start all over again. I don’t know why my interest dropped off. Maybe I had a couple of disappointing images in a row and got discouraged. I wasn’t living up to what I thought my output would look like.
In my heart I know that some lucky people are born with an innate talent or may have just had a lifelong interest piqued at a certain age. But that’s not all it takes to become good at something. The real talent lies in sticking with it. There is a drive that keeps artists intensely focused on the art or work, leading to growth year after year. They may have other interests but the main focus of their energies is their passion for their work.
Recently I looked at the images I had produced so far and pronounced to myself, “This isn’t bad. Maybe I’ll pick this up again sometime.” For now though, all the supplies are still on my dining room table.
Meantime, pickleball beckons…
betty's blog 