Rediscovering Art in Retirement: A Journey of Creativity
Written on
Chapter 1: Embracing the Artistic Journey
In my quest to compensate for my lack of formal art education, I found myself exploring the world of creativity.
This paragraph will result in an indented block of text, typically used for quoting other text.
Section 1.1: The Humble Beginnings
It’s important to clarify: this isn’t a promotional piece urging you to purchase art that resembles your child’s school projects. The artwork I’m showcasing is mine—not my children’s or grandchildren’s. I truly admire those who can skillfully depict objects or people on canvas. However, I’ve never considered myself one of those individuals. My home is filled with various art projects, but I must admit, none are original creations; I’ve shamelessly replicated them all.
One piece I’m particularly fond of is an ostrich I created using oil pastels. The varied sizes of the background dots give the illusion of depth, something I had never realized was achievable. How did I miss that before?
Reflecting on my elementary school days, I recognize that I should have been in a remedial art class. Without proper guidance, my artistic skills never advanced past simplistic drawings of yellow suns shining on tulips, accompanied by a stick figure. I often depicted people with their hands hidden behind their backs, as my attempts at illustrating hands resulted in awkward, glove-like appendages.
For a long time, I believed I lacked artistic ability. I thought creativity was an innate gift bestowed upon a select few, but not me. I didn’t feel troubled about not being able to draw, just as I didn’t mind my struggles with math. Interestingly, I later discovered I excelled in math and was a proficient reader and writer. It appeared that everyone had their strengths and weaknesses, which felt fair but turned out to be misleading. We all can engage with various subjects and derive something meaningful from them.
Recently, I decided it was time to pursue a real art education. Well, "real" might be a stretch; I resorted to searching for elementary art projects online, complete with step-by-step guides. For instance, the owl I painted was simply a colored stencil I found at a dollar store during Halloween.
Section 1.2: A Newfound Inspiration
My first real push to explore art came when a friend encouraged me to visit a local art studio. Initially, I was hesitant, convinced that I would never be able to create a painting. The studio was nearly empty on that weekday afternoon, and we were surrounded by numerous scrapbooks filled with various paintings. My task was merely to pick one, with options ranging from beginner to expert.
Although I was overwhelmed by the artwork presented, I felt completely lost about how to proceed with any of the projects. Eventually, I chose one that reminded me of days spent at the beach with my daughters.
The instructor provided me with a small easel, a canvas, an assortment of brushes, a cup of water, paper towels, and a paper plate to serve as a palette. She handed me an instruction sheet complete with a diagram, and soon returned with several paint colors. I was guided through painting the background colors, side by side. As I worked, she offered assistance and told me to call her if I had any questions or needed additional paint.
When it came time to draw the two figures, I felt a surge of panic. I raised my hand, and the teacher retrieved two pre-cut black silhouettes from the instruction envelope. She showed me where to position them and provided a pencil for tracing. After coloring them in with black paint, I was astonished at how straightforward the process had been. Here’s my final creation.
Chapter 2: The Sip and Paint Experience
The very next day, I purchased a frame for my painting, and it now proudly hangs in my dining room. A couple of weeks later, I joined another friend at a "Sip and Paint" event, where participants are encouraged to bring wine. At these gatherings, everyone creates the same painting, guided by an instructor who explains and demonstrates each step.
As we worked, I observed subtle variations in everyone’s paintings. One person’s water might appear slightly lighter or darker, while another might have painted a narrower or wider sunbeam. I felt my clouds were perhaps too aligned, but I managed to add a few extra clouds to fill the empty space in my sky. Despite the minor discrepancies, every painting turned out beautifully.
Although studio painting provided a great starting point, I realized it could become an expensive hobby. Feeling more confident, I ventured to a craft store to gather my own supplies, eager to paint more.
To make things interesting, I started a little game. Whenever I visit a museum or gift show, I categorize artwork into two groups: those that require talent and years of practice, and those I can replicate. As I stroll through galleries or shops, I snap pictures of pieces that I believe I could recreate.
Here are two of my interpretations of professional works I admired in museums.
One oval painting caught my eye while I was at the Smithsonian. Regrettably, I didn’t record the artist's name. My colors differed from the original, and my shading was more incidental than intentional, but through trial and error, I produced a version that, for my standards, was passable.
At the Corning Museum in New York, I encountered another original piece:
The original had larger squares and wispy white patches. This project was quite challenging; I struggled to recreate the colors used by the artist. It took several days to produce something I deemed acceptable.
I often wonder: can a professional artist replicate the same painting twice? Would the colors and shapes turn out identically on both occasions?
Occasionally, I host paint nights with friends. We gather around a dining table, supplies in hand, searching for ideas on our phones. Here are my latest two creations:
For the first painting, I applied the background paint band techniques I learned from my studio experiences. When it came to the mountains, I simply painted what I saw, surprised to find that the peaks appeared three-dimensional. It wasn’t easy; I went over those slopes repeatedly for hours.
The second painting, however, proved more challenging than I anticipated. I struggled immensely to achieve the right yellows and browns. The stairs were nearly impossible, and my perspective was completely off. Thankfully, my friend’s daughter Tory, a skilled artist, quickly diagnosed my issues and suggested solutions.
Despite my artistic journey, I realize that I may never be a true artist with original works displayed in galleries. For me, this remains a casual hobby that I occasionally enjoy without taking too seriously. However, I have gleaned valuable life lessons through this experience.
First, it’s never too late to try something new. Age, talent, or education shouldn’t deter anyone from exploring new interests. My artistic journey has taught me to embrace any endeavor that piques my curiosity.
Second, it’s perfectly acceptable to be a beginner, even at sixty. With retirement comes fewer distractions and more time to appreciate each project.
Whatever it is that you’ve been longing to try—go for it!
No pressure, but does anyone want to buy or commission some artwork? Why is it so quiet out there?
Here is a thought-provoking video featuring Anne Wilkes Tucker discussing the importance of recognizing all artists, not just women artists.
This video explores a beautifully haunting painting that may evoke discomfort, offering insights into the emotional power of art.