Drawn to be mild
Tired of lounging on a beach, Jenny Eclair searches for her inner artist in Italy and quickly discovers she’s...
THERE comes a time in a woman’s life when beach holidays just don’t cut it any longer, when lying on golden sands (unless you’re buried up to your neck) serves only to remind you how much weight you forgot to lose again this year and how ill-fitting your swimming costume is.
Being control freaks, most fiftysomething females find ‘doing nothing’ a bit boring – after all, there are only so many hours one can spend on a Kindle, and woman cannot live by fiction alone.
This is the time when the ‘alternative holiday experience’ tickles your holiday tastebuds and you find yourself looking at brochures for Nordic cruises. Excellent! Everyone looks fat pointing at a fjord while wearing an Aran jumper.
But apart from choosing chilly destinations such as the Arctic or Scarborough, your other non-lolling-about option is the ‘activity holiday’, which can range from Pilates to kayaking, or painting to pottery.
Yes, I’ve crossed over: the world is divided into those who still want to ‘give it large’ in Ibiza, and those who want to find their ‘inner artist’. I’m in the latter camp – and I’ve got the paintings to prove it.
Over the past year, I have found enormous pleasure, not in shoe shops, but in the haberdashery department of Peter Jones, or any shop that supplies art materials.
I’ve developed a yearning to be creative. I wanted to do something in my spare time that saved my sanity, lowered my blood pressure (without going to the gym), soothed my soul and, with any luck, provided some cheap Christmas presents.
Cooking has never been my thing, I’m an enthusiastic but rubbish knitter, but I did do A-level Art, so I decided I fancied being taught how to master watercolours while simultaneously having a holiday somewhere nice.
Bingo! Last autumn I found myself spending a week in Treviso, just outside Venice, with a nine-strong crew of wan- nabe artists and keen cooks. Now before I go any further, I have to warn any single ladies that if you’re looking for hanky-panky, the Italian painting/cooking holiday combo may not provide rich pickings. With the exception of the painting tutor, Scotsman Hugh, and my other half Geof, we were middle-aged women to the core. Fabulous, hilarious, slightly eccentric middleaged, middle-class women with plenty of pashminas and photos of dogs on our iPhones!
For seven days, we painters were patiently guided by Hugh through the basics of sketching, paint technique, colour and form, while the cooks stayed in the kitchen making our meals. I know who picked the short straw.
But then, as they say, it’s horses for courses. The cooks wanted to chop vegetables into smithereens, while we artists wanted to sit in a medieval market town with a paintbrush in one hand and a glass of prosecco in the other.
Of course, it wasn’t all work. Two days into the break, our
holiday operator Flavours herded us all into minibuses and took us to Venice.
Like schoolchildren with credit cards, we roamed the most beautiful city in the world and came home, inspired by its mind-boggling loveliness, with lots of photos to copy into our art books back at our base, Villa Bianchi.
ALTHOUGH it was in the middle of nowhere, the farmhouse was comfortable, surrounded by maize fields and within easy striking distance by car of both Treviso and Venice.
The grounds were meticulously kept and the garden featured a very attractive landscaped pool.
Being the only couple, Geof and I had a separate annexe to ourselves. It might have looked a bit garage-like from the outside, but inside it was large and comfortable and contained a small kitchen (handy if the cooks in the main house aren’t up to scratch).
Accommodation in the main villa was simple but stylish, whistle-clean, and with lots of bold splashes of colour and squishy sofas.
Outside, a covered colonnaded area meant we could paint outdoors even when the weather turned.
In terms of relaxation, the holiday tickedt all the right boxes – Geof and I had a completely stress-free break, and other people did the cooking. How marvellous is that? There was no need tot feel anxious about restaurant bills asa the food and drink were entirely inclusive, even when went out on day trips to Venice and Treviso.
As for our artistic endeavours, Geof cheated, having been at art school in the 1960s. He quickly became the teacher’s pet, which was slightly infuriating (although secretly I was rather proud of him).
And me? Well, I definitely found my inner artist. Unfortunately she’s a bit gaudy and rather heavy-handed on the colour front, but if you like your paintings slightly vulgar, then I’m happy to take commissions (prices on application). So, well done to Flavours. Thanks to you, a ratty, tired old couple came home with a some rather special holiday memories.
Now, I’m not saying that any of mine are going on the wall, but a couple of Geof’s might make it into frames.
In the meantime, I’m still doing it. My palette, brushes and delicious selection of multi-coloured pans (the little blocks of paint) are always to hand. I love the ritual of it. I like the way my breathing slows down when I have a brush in my hand. I might not be very good at painting but painting is very good for me.