The Daily Telegraph

Street painting – how hard can it be?

An open-air art course had Hannah Betts fearful of close public scrutiny. But, if all else fails, she can still find her vanishing point

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‘Wow, that’s brilliant,” exclaims a tourist, cooing over my boyfriend’s easel, as we stand, side by side, painting the view outside’s Mayfair’s Connaught hotel. “You’ve captured the tones, the mood, the energy. Look at those light-dappled trees!”

He turns to my canvas. “And this…” the statement hangs in the air while we collective­ly consider four blobs of colour planted flatly on white, “... this is … interestin­g.”

Who knew that a five-star art course would be the activity that pushed my previously happy relationsh­ip to the brink? For, while galleries are my happy place, I last completed an art work when aged eight and have never before handled oils, let alone a 45 quid tube of cerulean blue, and I have to be told not to wield my hog-hair brush like a pen. Where other pupils associated art classes with freedom, for me they yielded only mortificat­ion, and a constant, unnecessar­y anxiety that my creation might end up on the wall.

In contrast, Terence, my beloved, spent his teens mooning moodily about an art room, and has been known to whip out a sketch pad while on hols. And he’s not alone. Only last weekend, the Duchess of Cambridge’s skills as an artist were revealed by way of a depiction of St Mark’s Church, Englefield, sketched for the order of service at her sister’s wedding.

Television is obsessed with art, including Sky’s Landscape Artist of the Year, Portrait Artist of the Year, and BBC One’s Big Paint Challenge, which puts budding Bacons through a boot camp. The emergence of “mindful” colouring books as a stress-relieving tool has led to an enthusiasm for generating one’s own creations, with “influencer­s” such as the Hadid sisters getting in on the act.

And now, The Connaught, ever modishly au courant, will be offering summer classes entitled “En Plein Air in Mayfair’’ – outdoor painting lessons delivered by distinguis­hed artist Alex Fowler. When Terence got wind of this, he insisted we be first to enjoy the experience, though painting would be second only to being hanged, drawn and quartered when it comes to things I’m not keen to do in public. “Still, it’s only three hours,” I consoled myself. “What can possibly go wrong?”

The answer emerged over breakfast in the hotel’s Coburg Bar, where we were introduced to Alex, a dashing chap of 41, who has been giving lessons for almost a decade. His self-portrait has just been shortliste­d for the Ruth Borchard Prize, while recent landscape projects have taken him to Jerusalem and San Francisco.

The night before, Terence had given me a panic attack by endeavouri­ng to teach me about vanishing points (something to do with maths), rendering me shaky and unslept. He, in contrast, looks more euphoric by the moment, not least when he learns that he and Fowler are products of the same art rooms – Eton and Chelsea. A floppy-haired love-in ensues.

“Forget the posh-boy bromance,” I inform our guru, “how are you going to deal with this terrified beginner?” Alex beams: “There’s an unnecessar­y fear around painting, but we’ll show that you can cover a lot of ground quite quickly. The aim is not just to nail the visual experience, but the emotion; to crystalise movement, light, colour and shape, not necessaril­y in a realistic way.”

“What about practical tips?” I demand. “Use as big a brush as possible,” he advises. “Go after the big shapes, the big relationsh­ips: the sky and the trees, the windows and trunks can come later. You can be slapdash – some of the best painters are. Be messy, bold. And don’t expect things to look right from the start. Let the painting make itself. Dive in and have fun.”

Terence is nodding with the zeal of a man who is about to get this motto printed on a T-shirt. “It’s not a competitio­n,” adds Alex, patently unfamiliar with our relationsh­ip.

We step into the sunshine to find five-star painting kits await, care of Chelsea art emporium Green & Stone. I can understand how one can fetishise equipment of such magnificen­ce – brushes, oils, and a handsome mahogany palette totalling £381.89 – even if I don’t yet understand what to do with it. Publicly identifyin­g with the role of artist is a lot easier from behind a handmade Italian easel. “Let’s find some views,” declares our leader. We spend a few minutes squinting through viewfinder­s and using our phones to play with framing. Then Alex bestows an apron and Lucian Freud-style belt rag upon me, fixes me up with a palette of white, primary colours, and a couple of turd browns, and away we go.

It immediatel­y becomes apparent that ours is a case of school swot versus teen rebel, Terence blithely daubing away, me sullenly staring. Saint Alex hovers cheerily between us – a genius at balancing both our needs – encouragin­g me to squint, simplify, and block the main shapes, while Terence knocks up an instant masterpiec­e.

Forty-five minutes in and it occurs to me that I’m really rather enjoying crushing colours with my palette knife; 90 minutes in and I’ve had enough. My eyes hurt not from seeing differentl­y, but from seeing at all. I realise I am far happier not looking and leaping to conclusion­s. Besides, my creation is brilliantl­y bad.

I had hoped to be a Fauvist, but what I have produced is more of a medieval mess – crude blocks of colour sans perspectiv­e. It may not impress the tourists, but I actually really like it. I inform Alex that I’m ready to stop because I don’t want to destroy what I have achieved. He urges me to keep going, inspiring a flashback to my adolescent art-class self, beset by boredom, truculence, and a pressing desire for chips.

Three hours after we began, we head back into The Connaught for a chips-based debrief. Terence adored everything about it, and learnt that he doesn’t have to worry so much about getting things right. I adored Alex and the kit, and learnt that some passing concern for getting things right would be no bad thing. We conclude that my problem is less with realism than reality.

Classes at £250 per person, including breakfast and art materials.

For further informatio­n email guestservi­ces@the-connaught.co.uk, or call +44 (0)20 7499 7070

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 ??  ?? Hannah, left, is guided by Alex Fowler as Terence cracks on: above, their respective views of The Connaught, Hannah’s on right
Hannah, left, is guided by Alex Fowler as Terence cracks on: above, their respective views of The Connaught, Hannah’s on right
 ??  ?? Kate Middleton’s church sketch for her sister Pippa’s wedding order of service
Kate Middleton’s church sketch for her sister Pippa’s wedding order of service
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