The good part: it wasn't an unmitigated disaster like it was last time. The smaller canvas was much more manageable. I had some idea now about how much paint to put on the brush and on the canvas. I had a system for cleaning my brushes off. I had lots of paper towels. And I had a computer that I don't care about in the room to show me the program which would guide me through my landscape (so if I accidentally miss the canvas by about five feet and start painting on my computer, I don't really care).
The bad part: I am physically incapable of not making a mess. Thankfully, the mess was all over myself, and not on the floor. Paint in my hair, on my face, on my arms, my clothes, and coating my hands. I was a mess. I also don't have an easel yet, so I'm making do with my makeshift easel, constructed from an old bookcase, vhs tapes, books, and pieces of a deconstructed cabinet. It's quite ingenious, actually, but not ideal. So I'm limited by that. I'm also still having issues with the amount of paint to put on the brush and on the canvas, which results on colors too deep or rich, or the paint simply not sticking to the canvas.
So now, my latest masterpiece.
Mountains, evergreens, water, and some bushes in the foreground. So much better than my first one, right? I mean, that's at least recognizable. My first one was a psychedelic mess. The whole thing, from set up to clean up, took me nearly three hours. The clean up took significantly more time, as when I was finished, I was (as I said) covered in paint. I ran my hands under hot water, and nothing would come off. The paint was just getting softer on my hands, so now instead of one palm covered in blue, both of my hands were now blue. And also my forearms, which had areas of green and yellow (and red, on my upper arm, how that got there I do not know), were now a delightful shade of turquoise. I had two options. Leave the bathroom to grab the green tinted paint thinner, with my hands and arms coated in what might as well have been radioactive sludge that would destroy whatever it touched; or try the weak but pleasantly lavender scented soap. Since I didn't really want to have to repaint the walls (or replace the carpet), I opted for the soap. And it was magic! It was like anti-paint. (I know this sounds stupid, but I use oil paints, and the professional type can't be removed from skin without hardcore turpentine and an act of congress.) I was able to get enough of it off so I could finish cleaning up and jump into the shower. (Which I wouldn't have done had I not been doing laundry. Yes, I decided to paint on the night I was doing laundry. I might be smart, but I never said I was a genius.)
So the second experience was much more positive than the first. I have a painting that is relatively recognizable! You know, mostly!
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