Advice from '73

(Here I am in what I thought was a rather cute plaid cap, with braids, in front of a barn. No paints in sight, but I promise you, I did paint.)
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One of the most unusual snippets of advice I've received came from a painting instructor, William Gerhold of Davis, West Virginia. Mr. Gerhold (and I call him "Mr" because at the time I was 17 and he was probably mid-forties) was a watercolorist living and working in West Virginia. I found his name in an issue of American Artist magazine, the only and first magazine that I subscribed to while in high school.

Every spring, early in the spring, the magazine would run various ads on painting workshops and getaways being held in the upcoming summer. Mr. Gerhold's sounded wonderful! His workshop was held in Cannan Valley State Park. I showed the ad to my parents, and they gave their consent (and $).

Paper, paints, and various supplies were purchased. Including a heavy wooden drawing board. I also had a smaller, lighter board that my dad must have made for me. I made a strap for it out of macrame. A popular activity for girls in 1973.

The camp was two weeks long. I'd never been away from home that long. My mother, I learned years later, struggled a bit with letting me go.

Well, to speed this story up, one day Dad and I piled into the family car and started on a seven-hour journey. This in itself was remarkable.

I wasn't what one would call "close" to my father. He scared me a bit, because I didn't understand him. I longed, at times, for him to be smiley, handsome, strong and happy. He was not though, not in the way I expected he should be. But, here he was, supporting the "girls-can-do-anything-boys-can-do" mentality. We eventually arrived in WV; I don't know anything about Dad's trip home.

There followed two weeks of living in a cabin with five others, one of two cabins. Painting every day. Critiques at night. An 18-year-old girl and I were the youngest attendees, by far.

Mr. Gerhold had a Jeep. He was the only person I'd known with a Jeep. All his painting things were in the back, he'd open the back and set up to paint. I think I've judged all vehicles owned as an adult against what I thought was the practicality of Mr. Gerhold's Jeep. Anyway, he drove us miles down a dirt road to an abandoned farm. Years later, the horrible wasp sting I received in the middle of nowhere (I'm allergic) has pretty much faded and I remember the sounds and smell and feel of that place.

I'm sure you're wondering about that helpful advice from Mr. Gerhold. The watercolor paper (D'Arches of course) was expensive -- just like now. It was intimidating looking at a big sheet of it; all white and perfect. The teachers advice was to deliberately dirty it up -- step on it, throw dirt on it -- splash paint on it. Get past the fear of screwing up -- then you can move on to create free of anxiety.

I have not thought of that advice for 31 years! But woke up yesterday morning thinking of it...