Painters in watercolour may be the last survivors of an endangered species: people who find three rare commodities in this busy, stressful world of ours: silence, solitude and serenity.
Silence
The creative act needs peace and quiet, something increasingly rare in a society bombarded by noise: traffic, crowds, boom-box stereos, jets, cell phones, television and radio advertising. My painting space is often my retreat from the outside world where I control the level of noise to suit my mood. I often paint in total silence for an hour or more, especially if my project involves concentration and the need to balance learned skills with experimentation. During a long Canadian winter I will often play a Dan Gibson CD of waves breaking on a beach somewhere, or song birds in an English country garden. Mind you, outdoor sketching in a busy urban setting lends a certain zest to your efforts. Maybe it's the rush to get the hell out of such a noisy spot! Do you find the stimulation extends to a fast-paced style? Your pencil and brushes seem to whizz along at frantic speed, bringing a refreshing quality to your work you can't seem to capture in a studio. But sooner or later you need that silence to recharge your creative batteries.
Solitude
The creative act is usually undertaken alone; it's not a shared activity. It's almost a selfish act, and I'm sure the hours we spend painting alone sometimes causes family misunderstandings, but solitude is mandatory in the production of a good painting. It's hard to concentrate on a pastoral scene when the dog wants out, the kids want in, the front lawn needs mowing, and something is burning on the stove. We painters in watercolour need our silence and our solitude. We learn to switch off the cell phone, shut the door and mentally cut ourselves off from the world around us. We may emerge an hour or so later and wonder where the time went, but oh - it's good for the soul isn't it?
Serenity
This comes from all of the above, and I think it is something more precious than words can convey. Rarely in everyday life do we feel the serenity which comes from a watercolour that goes well. Sometimes you know it from the start. Washes go on as planned, the colours blend in just the right way, and it has a deft feel to it; you just know this one will win awards or at least end up on the living room wall. This is serenity at its best. Of course there are an equal number of times when it's a disaster from the beginning. Your serenity is sorely tried as you struggle and fight to save your lovely, expensive sheet of watercolour paper, to say nothing of the hours you've spent on the dammed thing! Even as you vow to give up painting and take up knitting or rock climbing, you know in your heart you can only get that serenity back by trying again. I think that's why painters in watercolor are very special people - they experience the joys of the three Ss in much of their lives.
John Fisher
