SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO MOVE ON

Two friends and I sat in a cafe several years ago enjoying an afternoon tea. We laughed and told stories, drank our tea with gusto, and made plans for adventures. As we talked, I looked around the tearoom. Colorful abstract paintings lined the walls along with shelves holding various-shaped teapots. Our table was near the window looking out to the street. I had my back to the window and across from me was an older woman sitting by herself. I looked at her occasionally thinking that she would be a good subject to paint. As I glanced at her, I thought she looked lonely as she gazed out the window, not paying too much attention to the food at her table. Just before we finished our tea, I took a photo of my friends, making sure that I captured the woman in the background. She was still sitting, staring out the window as we left.

Since then I have tried to paint her portrait several times. I thought it would be easy. Each attempt has ended up in my throw-away pile. I ask myself why. Does her side view make drawing her expression difficult? Is it because she is looking off to the right? (I flipped the photo over and tried the painting with her facing left -- same dissatisfied attempt.) Is it because her loneliness seeps into my painting? Is it because of that little nagging guilt of seeing someone by themselves without reaching out to connect?

Someone once advised me not to paint someone I knew, especially family members. Her reason: your emotions get too entangled in your painting. I've followed that suggestion when I paint portraits. Out of my parents' photo albums, I pick photos of people I never knew. I don't feel the need to get an exact representation of the person. They are just a model for me to practice painting people. I can ask myself questions. Where is the light coming from? Did I get the ratio of the space between the eyes and their ears correct? Where are the shadow shapes? I don't have to ask myself if my drawing looks like my mother/sister/aunt because I am not trying to paint a real person.

I had a similar experience as I drew people from Zoom who are in my writers' group. I didn't want to make exact portraits of each one. I was just practicing getting eyes in the right place, gestures and expressions, the fall of the hair across a face, the lines around the mouth when we smile. I exaggerated or emphasized features as I drew. I felt like writing next to the drawings: This isn't you.

As I worked on paintings of the woman in the tearoom, I tried various positions, eliminated her surroundings, added them back in, looked for examples from other painters' work, and finally, in frustration, drew on the watercolor with a heavy pencil. I looked at the result and liked it even though the portrait is severe and nothing like my idea of a light-hearted portrait of an older woman enjoying tea in a tearoom. That last attempt pushed me to try again. This time I felt myself relax and I put away the photograph so I wouldn't copy every shadow or wrinkle that I saw. Though none are award-winners, I learned some lessons about myself.  I realized, once again, how important the drawing underneath can be. I also decided that some of my earlier attempts weren't so bad after all. I had let my inner critic out. I was reminded that artists live with failure all the time. Sometimes I need to move on or sometimes taking one more step can provide the change and growth I am trying to achieve. In this case, my next best step was to relax.