A brush with old artistic dreams

A YouTube art tutorial for beginners inspires Gayle to pick up her paint brushes

Artistic talent is often considered a rare gift you either have, or – in my case – don’t have. But there’s a theory that we can all learn to draw well if we’re prepared to put in the hours.

I’m not quite sure I believe it.

The last time I picked up a paint brush (other than once back in 2018 for a fun story) was at school.

I took the subject to Standard Grade level, my final submission being a grotesque drawing of a bleeding hand striking a gong with a mallet.

Alas, I wasn’t skilled enough to take my art career any further, but I secretly wished I could have been an aspiring talent, welcomed into art college with open arms.

It didn’t take long to forget this dream and I turned my attention to other creative subjects, like writing.

During lockdown, however, things I’ve long forgotten about seem to be bubbling to the surface.

I’ve been obsessively trawling old photo albums, listening to the music of my teenage years and reminiscing about school and uni days.

I also started thinking about drawing. Maybe now, decades on from my school attempts, I could give it another bash? Maybe I’d discover some hidden talent?

It seemed rather far-fetched but with the idea floating around in my head, I couldn’t shake it.

Where to begin?

With no chance of joining an art class with a real, live teacher any time soon, I turned to Google.

Within minutes I found a YouTube tutorial for beginners by AhmadArt which showed how to paint a simple sunset using acrylics.

The end product was absolutely gorgeous – surreal pinks and yellows blending into each other to create an otherworldly landscape.

I watched the video, which was just over eight minutes long, a few times, and became increasingly inspired.

If I could pull this off, or something even remotely close to it, I’d be happy.

As luck would have it, my mum had some old acrylic paints, brushes and canvases stashed away, and kindly agreed to let me use/abuse them.

The sun was shining so I decided to get to business outside in the garden.

The first steps were simple – you brush strips of yellow and pink on to the canvas and then add a little water to blend the colours.

There’s no talking in the video – the only audio is the sound of wind chimes tinkling away in the background – so it can be a bit of a pain to follow.

You need to keep pausing, rewinding and replaying to work out what’s going on, and if, like me, you’re creating your artwork in the sunshine, chances are you’ll have the problem of phone screen glare.

There’s also the issue of wee beasties getting stuck in the paint and I’m sad to report that at least three died during my creation. They quite literally suffered for my art.

Anyway, once I’d toggled the video back and forth a million times, I found I’d covered the canvas in various shades of pink, yellow and purple.

It was starting to look, well, interesting.

The next bit was scary – painting in some mountains.

Initially, my “mountains” looked more like a small pair of boobs but, reluctant to mess up, I left them as they were, adding in an attempt at their reflections on water.

Yes, the water was yellow, but remember, this was a surreal piece of art...

The subtitles invited me to “make a boat if you want”.

A big part of me most definitely did not want to because this looked complex.

However, I pulled on my brave pants and gave the boat a bash.

My first attempt was absolutely shambolic, the boat resembling absolutely nothing whatsoever.

Frustrated, I tried to salvage this travesty, and managed, only marginally.

The tub was all wrong and completely out of proportion and the sails were more like two Dairylea triangles.

I also messed up the mast by using a paintbrush that was way too thick. It looked stubby and ridiculous.

A huge part of me wanted to tear the thing up and start again – or give up completely – but then I realised I was being precious.

This was never meant to be a grand masterpiece; it was meant to be a fun thing to do.

If the result was even more surreal than the definition of surreal itself, who cared?

With my spirits suitably buoyed up, I painted on a black, rocky outcrop in the foreground and dotted some seagulls in the sky.

Stepping back from my creation, I realised I was smiling.

I’m sure many folk would say it’s a load of old rubbish, but at the end of the day, what does that matter?

The point was, I had created something that gave me joy and left me feeling good.

And if it does give folk a good laugh, then so be it.

More importantly, I wanted to relay the message that if I can paint – even at a very basic level – then anyone can paint.

Before I sent off my story and accompanying photographs of my surreal sunset to the features desk, and now, into the public sphere, I showed my painting to two people.

The first person was full of compliments, which I appreciated – even if they weren’t sincere – while the other described it as “interesting”, questioned why the sea was pink and told me he thought the boat was “an island with a Christmas tree on it”. Ach, well, thanks!

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that, and if someone sees something in my “art” that I don’t, then who am I to argue?

I haven’t decided what to do with my surreal sunset just yet, but one thing I do know is that I won’t be applying for art school any time soon!

Gayle got to work in the garden, but it was her artistic hopes that were blossoming as she followed an online tutorial to paint a sunset.