A collection of stories, thoughts and good vibes from my back porch

I do several mini-workshops during the year. They focus on the "how" to paint and not so much on the "why" or other technical aspects of painting. The workshops are step-by-step instruction on building a painting in an hour or two. I always tell my attendants that if they do what I tell them to do they will have a nice, finished piece of art they can hang. In virtually every class there is someone who has never painted before or that has painted in the past, but thought it took weeks to do an oil painting right. They can't get it up front how we will finish an oil painting in a couple of hours. But we do. And they do. 

One of the ladies in the class told me after we had finished, "I'm 63 years old and never knew I could paint. I didn't know I could do that!" I love hearing comments like that and hear something similar in every class. 

It's not hard if one follows instruction. I was fortunate to have a great mentor, Bill Zaner, in my life when I first started oil painting. "You don't have to do what I tell you, but if you don't you'll probably get into trouble," he would tell me. I watched him, asked questions, listened, and then executed his tutelage. He would tell me that he couldn't teach me anything because he was not a teacher, he was a painter. But I listened. And I learned. I did what he showed me. And I got better. 

I would finish a nice painting quickly using his techniques, just like he showed me. He would look at it, then look at me, raising one bushy eyebrow, and ask, "You did that? How?" "I just did what you showed me," I would answer. "Goddammit," he would reply, "You owe me." And I still do. I lost Bill several years ago, but I'm paying back my debt to him by doing what he did for me: helping others learn the joy of creating art. 

I think Bill wanted others to see and enjoy the beauty he saw all around him, all the time. He expressed it on canvas, and although he didn't teach anymore, he allowed me into his world for a short time, and helped me see things I would not have seen otherwise. And now I have the privilege of giving what he gave me - the art of painting. Bringing joy to others through color. Giving back. He never showed me anything grudgingly, and didn't hold back, except on one thing.

We were discussing color one early morning over coffee, and  I was asking him about how he would express a particular pink that was in the sky that morning. I wanted to know what mix of colors he would use, because I saw it so many times in his work. He asked me, "What would you use?" I did my best to answer him, and he simply said, "Try that." I did, and I could never get it right. A year or so after he passed, his son, Matt told me he has some things of Bill's he wanted me to have. I gladly accepted those treasures. One of the items was a French easels. I use it every time I do a demo or teach a class. Inside the easel were several tubes of paint. And one of them was a tube of, yep,  pink paint, of which I will not reveal the name or brand, because it was Bill's secret. I believe he wanted me to find out for myself, that's why he didn't tell me. And I think when I found it, he raised an eyebrow, cracked a smile from heaven, and said, "You owe me."