I’ll Never Be An Artist

I like trying new things. So one day, I decided to take up watercolour painting.

It was one of those decisions you regret long after the screaming stops.

I bought a beginner’s set. Paints, brushes of varying thickness. Paper. Water — I had that already, being clever.

I even ordered a book: Watercolour for Beginners. Nothing too taxing. I could already see the masterpieces. A cross between Monet and a minor electrical fire.

I opened the book.

Lesson 1: Mixing colours.

“Add a dab of green and a dab of blue to get this lovely tone.”

Right.

I dabbed green. Dabbed blue.

Result: vomit.

Tried again. Slightly less vomit. Dipped the brush. Painted a blob. A mess. A sorrowful swamp.

Still, not one to quit, I reached for my sketchbook. Drew my coffee mug. It came out looking drunk, but recognisably a mug. I felt hope.

I mixed again. Dab. Swirl. Dab.

Paint hit paper.

Paint immediately decided it hated paper.

Paint went rogue.

It fled in all directions like it owed someone money. The coffee mug vanished. Replaced by a kind of damp regret.

Balls.

I made coffee. Re-read the book. Apparently, everyone struggles with colour mixing. Encouraged, I extracted fresh paper with an artistic flourish.

Tried again. This time, I created a brand-new colour. Let’s call it “Defeat Beige.”

Ran out of green. Improvised with brown.

My page now resembled a crime scene in a petting zoo.

Anger rose.

I sketched again. Focused.

This time, the paint stayed where it was supposed to.

Then changed its mind.

It ran straight off the page and into my coffee.

I opened the window.

And hurled the entire kit — brushes, paper, paints, rags, hopes, dreams — into the garden with an angry roar.

GRRRRRR… BOLLOCKS!

Mary walked in.

Paused. Took in the chaos.

Paint on the walls. Rage in the air. A vomit-coloured pigeon wandering outside, looking startled and slightly avant-garde.

“Not going well, then?”

“NO.”

“Maybe try something else?”

“GRRR.”

She left. Shaking her head like someone who’d warned me twice already.

Note to self: I’m red/green colour blind. Don’t mess with painting. Or colouring. Or crayons.

My camera helps me make sense of the world.

A set of Crayolas just laughs at me.