I happened across a pastel painting The Tingology class on a brisk Saturday in January of last year. My friend offered me cakes as an incentive to sign up. To be honest, I’m not very good at drawing stick figures, much less making art out of them. Fearing I would provoke some kind of catastrophe, I crouched behind a worn sketchbook and stared at the other pupils, all of whom appeared to be professionals.
Those pastels, to begin with? Those are not your average crayons. I felt like my hands were being doused in rainbow dust the second I touched them. An energetic woman named Lisa sashayed from table to table, offering words of encouragement and constructive criticism. “Slacken down! Oh no! She shouted, “Don’t be afraid of mess!” as my left thumb grew blue.
I underestimated how difficult the nuts and bolts of color layering would be. Just because you mix baby blue with black doesn’t mean you’ll get a starry sky. Underneath the vibrant greens and gloomy clouds, Lisa had us begin with crazy underpaintings of purples and peaches. Totally out of control. Under my breath, I said, “This will never work.” Lisa laughed when she overheard and then dusted some pastel pink powder onto my hair. “Have faith in the procedure!” she exclaimed. The teacher can pull a fast one every now and then.
My scene that day looked like a fruit salad had been struck by a meteor because I splattered colors all over it. “Hey, that sunset pops!” exclaimed a fellow student sitting next to me as she narrowed her eyes. As if by magic, the gooey slop developed a spark. I beamed like a three-number lottery winner.
My strategy had relaxed by the third meeting. After I let go of my need for perfection, I found joy in embracing disorder. Unexpectedly, blending turned into a wild party: blending with fingers, tissues, and even elbows (not recommended—awkward angles). To make what were formerly level fields seem like gentle slopes, I used shading techniques.
I saw something wild—my painting had energy—when we pinned our paintings to the corkboard for evaluation, even though my hands were still smeared. It has soul, albeit it was far from a masterpiece. “You made great progress this week!” Lisa even agreed.
Hey, guess what? I persisted, with little wins piling up. I would have laughed if you had told me that pastel painting would be my go-to hobby for relaxing. But now I pull out the pastels whenever things get complicated or stressful in life. Under my nails, I can still feel the color dust. No way would I want things any differently.