The Amateur versus The Professional

At one of my weekly art classes, I saw a girl painting the morning glory, using a photograph as a reference. Being an avid fan of flower paintings, I couldn't hold back the sudden surge of enthusiasm within to get hold of that piece of photograph which seemed rather old and yellow from use by the many art students who had studied there for the last 20 years. Anyone could tell this judging from the supposedly light purple blooms that now appeared to be darker with the blue sky in the background the shade of turquoise.

Nevertheless, I theorized that owing to her commendable training at the art class, the young female Picasso’s fluidity in applying the colours on the painting mesmerized my excited soul. The colour, the form, the simplicity in bringing out the real scenery, the particular attention given to the hour of the day and the feel of the painting as a whole – all of those elements strikingly combined to produce a dramatic painting that could mark the difference between a Tate Modern’s material and a piece of junk.

Feeling determined, I decided that I would be my own Picasso and so produce a painting of the morning glory too. No, not quite – rather, a better version of the morning glory painting because I’m evil and I cannot stand to see other people having that satisfied look on their faces after completing the painting of the morning glory. Errr… how many times have I mentioned morning glory in this paragraph already? 

Scratch, scratch.

So, at the next opportunity, I quickly rushed to get hold of the picture from my teacher’s reference album and waved it triumphantly, not realizing how childish I was being in a class full of children. With no time to waste, I immediately started to work on producing my next masterpiece, while my art teacher assisted the other children with their works. Being so engrossed, I didn’t feel how fast time flew, but at the end of the class I was proud to present my work of art to the sifu, and eagerly awaited his praises. Or, was I expecting too much? From the lines that were formed on his forehead, guessed the answer was yes… (big grin).

My sick-looking flowers. Notice the dark blooms, 

they were so dark they were barely noticeable.

The absence of layers also rendered the 

whole composition flat.

For a second, I thought I caught a glimpse of a seasoned lecturer in my teacher’s eyes, all set to bombard me with a full tutorial on the basics of painting. Instead, he took a piece of watercolour drawing paper and did a demonstration painting of the same reference. By then, the smaller kids had long left the class, leaving only the older ones to finish off their artworks and the lady clerk who is my teacher’s wife tidying up the place. I patiently waited for him to complete the demonstration while at the same time, straining my ears listening to his sermon. The words he spoke sounded very familiar like in a déjà vu sort of occurrence. Later I figured out that it was because he had been telling them to me over and over again like the sound of a broken record, only that the words normally entered through an ear and went out the same one. They didn’t even make it to the brain to be stored temporarily, let alone permanently. When he was done, he went on and on to compare the techniques he engaged to bring out the form, adding the tones, the layers, yadda yadda yadda as opposed to my amateurish work. I had nothing else to do but nod to all of his points in total agreement. True enough, i had not been practising the theories I had learned. Instead, I preferred to apply what I thought was right when I could just be going against the flow. My weekend couldn't be any more complete than finishing a bad painting and subjecting myself to mental torture of the first degree. 

At the end of the day, I looked back and started to reflect on my very objective of signing up for the class. If I’d wanted to become good at this trade, I should have toed the line and not be too thrilled and greedy at grabbing the opportunities even though it would mean spending many many years on learning and training. But better late than never, right? And that was just what I wanted to do from then onwards. 

I went home that evening thinking about whom I could gift the ugly painting to while pretending that I did it in conjunction with their special occasion… I mean who would know the difference between a good and a bad painting? There would always be stories to tell about your interpretation of a work of art, I could say mine was an experiment on space and layers, hence the sense of flatness. So I was looking forward to part ways with this particular painting as well. But then, after thinking it over, maybe it would just better stay in my possession in case 100 years from now, people will be hunting for this particular 'Picasso’s' early works. Who knows in the future, I will be famous for my avant garde technique known as 'Flatism'. 

The fresh-looking demonstration piece done 

by my teacher. Notice the warm and cold 

colours used to separate the flowers from 

the wall that they are noticeably protruding 

above the surface.