Have you ever wanted to paint with watercolor?

I have.

I’ve tried and tried, but I could never seem to get anywhere. Instead of beautiful, soft washes of color, I ended up with big puddles filling my page. Blobs here. Blobs there. Water running where it wasn’t supposed to go.

What a mess!

I started following a few watercolor artists on Facebook, hoping to pick up some tips and figure out what I was doing wrong. It helped—a lot, actually—but I still felt like I needed more. There’s only so much you can learn by watching someone else make watercolor look ridiculously easy.

So, I decided it was time for a real class.

I registered for an eight-week watercolor class at the Mesa Arts Center. Every Tuesday, I head over there with my supplies, ready to learn something new—and hopefully come home knowing a little more than I did when I arrived.

Last week, we learned how to paint trees and bushes.

Let me just say this: I suck at trees and bushes.

There. I said it.

This week, however, we painted cacti.

Now we’re talking!

I love cacti. Living in Arizona, I see them everywhere, and I’ve always loved their shapes, colors, flowers, and personalities. Yes, I think cacti have personalities.

I thought, This is going to be right up my alley.

Well…

Drawing the picture was easy enough. I felt pretty good about that part. Then I started painting.

Somewhere between the drawing and the watercolor, things went terribly wrong.

I pretty much screwed it up.

I was disappointed because I had pictured this lovely watercolor cactus painting in my head. What appeared on my paper wasn’t exactly what my imagination had planned.

But then I had to remind myself of something rather important.

I’m taking a beginner watercolor class because I’m a beginner!

I’m not supposed to know what I’m doing yet. That’s the whole point of taking the class. If I already knew how to control the water, mix the perfect colors, paint beautiful trees and create fabulous cacti, I wouldn’t need to be there.

Of course, there are a few people in the class who make me question that whole “beginner” thing.

Today, one woman brought in a finished painting to get some advice from our instructor. I happened to see it as I walked by.

Beginner?

Yeah, right.

There is no way this gal is a beginner. Her painting was beautiful. She obviously knows what she’s doing.

Ugg!

Then there’s the gentleman who sits next to me. He’s definitely not a beginner either. He’s taken this class before, along with other art classes, and it shows.

So, I’ve decided I’m going to copy him.

Okay, okay—not actually copy him.

But I’m watching.

I’ve noticed some of the things he does, how he approaches his paintings and some of the techniques he uses. If sitting next to someone with more experience can help me become a better watercolor painter, you can bet I’m going to pay attention.

And you know what?

Despite the puddles, the blobs, the questionable trees, and my poor unfortunate cactus, I’m having a great time.

The women in the class are nice, the gentleman beside me is helpful to watch, and our instructor is wonderful. Most importantly, for a couple of hours every Tuesday, I get to sit down and simply paint.

There’s something wonderful about that.

I don’t have to be good at it yet.

I don’t have to create a masterpiece.

I just have to keep putting paint on paper, learning what the water will do, figuring out what works—and occasionally discovering what definitely does not work.

Maybe that’s one of the best things about being a beginner.

You get permission to make a mess.

And who knows? By the end of these eight weeks, maybe my trees will actually look like trees, my bushes will resemble bushes, and my cacti will be attractive and eye-catching instead of looking like they survived some horrible desert accident.

For now, though, I’ll keep showing up every Tuesday.

I’ll keep painting.

I’ll keep learning.

And I’ll try to remember that every artist—watercolor or otherwise—had to be a beginner once.

What’s your favorite type of art? Acrylics? Oils? Writing? Share how you got started, and how you improved.

Eydie