My rookie era: oil painting taught me to find pleasure in struggle

As a five-year-old I loved fairies, the Spice Girls and Vincent van Gogh. It wasn’t the ear incident or existential despair that I found fascinating, but a picture book, For the Love of Vincent by Brenda V Northeast, in which Vincent was a teddy bear. That book led me to the real Van Gogh and to his vibrant paintings; I even went as Vincent Van Bear for Book Week and confused the hell out of everyone.

I was a happy painter for years until high school, when art became something I could be marked for and therefore terrifying. As I learned more about artists, I began to suspect an artist’s life was for other people. Taking solace in the idea that I wouldn’t be exceptional made it easier to stop.

When I started writing about art, the itch to paint returned and I chose oil paints, which I’d never used but felt carried a certain prestige. I enrolled in a class, committed to four hours each Sunday and went back to basics: colour theory, composition, drawing and paint mixing.

oil painting, van gogh, painting class, colour theory, composition, drawing, paint mixing, art writing, book week, spice girls