Ars Longa Vita Brevis

Watercolor is an unforgiving medium. It takes time and effort to begin to appreciate the dynamics of water and paint flows, the qualities of different papers, and the variety of brushes and strokes that go with them. A knowledge of drying times comes only through practice and many mistakes. Maddeningly, watercolors dry lighter -- often much lighter -- than when first put down. Even with experience this can be hard to judge - and it can wreak havoc with a carefully conceived value scheme. Handling the interaction of water and color becomes exponentially more challenging as scale increases. On any scale, if you make a mistake, you have to live with it. There are no do-overs in watercolor.

When you're done, the finished work can be relatively expensive to frame, due to the need for high-quality glazing and anti-UV and anti-reflection protection. The additional layer of glazing makes framed watercolor paintings heavier and more costly to ship. If all that were not enough, the commercial market for oils and acrylics is far bigger. In the November Boldbrush painting competition, 30 awards of various sorts were given out from a field of some 2,580. Among oil, acrylic, and watercolor entries, 15 awards went to oil paintings, five to acrylics and three to watercolors.

So why watercolor?

The Wu Wei

I like a challenge, and part of the attraction of watercolor is precisely because it's hard.

I like that it is portable and easy to clean up, hence a good travel companion.

I like to draw, and there is no better enhancement for a pencil or pen and ink drawing.

I like the transparency and nuance. The lightness of being that you feel in a good watercolor is hard to match in any other medium.

I like the test of preserving the light, when every brush stroke you make takes some of it away.

I like especially that what you choose not to paint is as important as what you do. The wu wei of watercolor is just enough and no more.

The Thrill of the Unpredictable

Then there is the process of painting itself. As it takes shape on paper, the piece will evolve from the going-in plan. Decision points and minor disasters crop up suddenly. But there is opportunity in calamity. You just have to find it.

You make initial choices with first washes. You decide a blue sky is not going to work, so you make it yellow or gray. You add clouds with dark bottoms. The foreground color may not convey the desired mood, so you change it. You make some things more prominent and de-emphasize others. The last tree in the row would throw the composition out of balance so you decide not to put it in. You are at liberty to take liberties.

Turning It Upside Down

In order to see these things more clearly, I will turn my work upside down and give it a good squint. If the composition looks wrong upside down, it's likely wrong right side up too. Is it too heavy in one area? Does the value or intensity of a particular color need attention? Is something too bright? Is that dark spot boring a hole in the paper and attracting more attention than it should? Do the background hills need lightening to recede a bit more?

There usually comes a point when these decisions are no longer exclusively yours. The painting itself takes over. True, you chose that yellow sky, but now the painting demands some analogous color to go with it, perhaps orange or brown. And then it requires more complementary color to balance the yellow and orange, and points you toward purple and blue. The midground green calls out for some reds. You ran the road past those trees, but the painting now tells you there should be a small fence as well, a fence you had not previously contemplated. After drying, it turns out the red barn is too dull, the painting dictates it be more vivid. It says the road looks barren, you should add a figure. When you do, it tells you the figure looks forlorn. It suggests you add a dog to give the figure purpose.

Making the Best of an Emergency

Having listened as carefully as you can, and having made some adjustments, you are likely at the point when you should stop. There is always more that can be done. This makes deciding when to stop one of the hardest things of all.

The whole process can be quite nerve-wracking. I now understand why John Singer Sargent referred to watercolor painting as "making the best of an emergency".

I do enjoy the emergencies, though. I find there are many parallels between painting watercolors and the diplomatic work I did for many years. No do-overs. What you don't do is as important as what you do. You work with the situation as it is, not as you would like it to be.

It's all about the wu wei.