The art of the deal

Participants in the Sawdust Art Festival’s Spring Into Art last weekend came home with a lot more than new techniques.

Some of us developed a bit more self confidence. Others discovered a latent talent, made a new friend or conquered a longtime fear.

I came home with a marvelous painting.

Only I didn’t paint it.

The two-day workshops are available in glass blowing, silk painting and everything in between, and are taught by experienced Sawdust exhibitors.

With scrumptious light breakfasts and a full catered lunch by exhibitor and caterer Debra Covern’s Thalia Street Catering, the workshops are equal parts foodie paradise and aesthete escape.

I attended Susan Wade’s introductory oil painting class, which focused on landscapes.

I chose oil painting because I’d always had a love affair with the singular odor of linseed oil, due in part to movies like “Girl with a Pearl Earring.”

But I went to the Sawdust seeking more than Colin Firth last Saturday. I’d always been jealous of the kids in school who had an obvious talent — singing, algebra, Super Mario Bros.

But having never taken ballet or learned an instrument or played a Gameboy, I never knew if there was anything hidden in me other than envy.

I’m not saying I expected to be the next Mary Cassatt, but I at least wanted to learn how to mix colors.

So I swallowed my fears, after discussing my options with the Sawdust staff, and showed up at the grounds last Saturday morning, nervous and two minutes late.

At the front gate, Spring Into Art coordinator Mollie Bing was there to greet me by name. Her warmth gave me some temporary confidence, so I marched up the stairs of the Healy House and sat down at the last open space in Wade’s class.

My original trepidation turned out to be common among my classmates. One said that she was positively terrified, but Bing charmed her into attending, for which she will forever be grateful. Others echoed her sentiments.

We sat stock-still that Saturday morning, eyeballing the blank canvases before us that rose up empty and proud, imposing as the walls of Jericho.

Wade began with a short introduction to the history of impressionist and plein air painting in California.

Her warm and inclusive nature soon thawed the statues before her, and we began to relax. She emphasized and reemphasized the simplicity of her chosen art form.

“This is easy, and it’s forgiving,” she told us.

We looked at each other with twisted, ironic smiles. Easy? Did she know what she was saying?

We were supposed to paint a Laguna Canyon scene based on a painting by Wade. Thin, sinewy branches; purple mountains’ majesty; I loved it.

Wade said that she has painted the same scene over and over again, to the point where she could do it in her sleep now.

“Something that I love passionately is going to give me a better painting,” Wade said. “If you love it, other people will respond to it.”

Giggling to myself when I had thoughts of Colin Firth once again, I took a deep breath and picked up my brush.

Almost too soon, it was time for lunch. Taking the opportunity to walk around and visit the other classes, I found a preponderance of women having an awesome time.

Reem Khalil’s silk painting students were stepping beyond their normal boundaries to create gorgeous, one-of-a-kind works of wearable art.

The students in the glassblowing booth were shocked at their ability to exploit such a terrifying element as fire for their own devices.

And after seeing students chip vintage china into bits to make into fabulous mosaics, I decided that I was more than capable of being destructive in the name of art.

But once back in my own chair, I stared at my landscape with distress. I think I had half expected it to magically look better by the time I got back.

As if reading my mind, Wade stressed that talent is only responsible for 10% of a good piece.

She emphasized the importance of proper preparation, especially when just starting out — under color and layout must be carefully planned, at least in her class.

“When you go home, freak out; go crazy,” Wade said. “But as a beginner, it’s hard enough.”

She also recommended the best products and shared some of her own color mixing secrets.

“The color’s the emotion,” Wade said. “If it’s not pretty on your palette, I guarantee it won’t be pretty on your canvas.”

I nodded wretchedly. By that point, my purple mountains’ majesty was seriously lacking.

Perhaps it would be useful to stress my perfectionism here.

Growing up, my lovingly thorough father stressed that anything I did had to be faultless, or I should just throw it away and start over. So now I have a confession to make.

Two canvases upon which I painted a bowl of eggplant and a floral arrangement last weekend are now covered in thick coats of dark paint, so that no evidence of my mediocrity will survive.

(Because, you know, in 200 years, someone might find those unsigned works, attribute them to me, and laugh.)

But I kept my Laguna Canyon landscape intact. In all fairness, it’s not that bad. And I did come home with a good painting. It just wasn’t one of mine.

My classmate Mark Miller, an aspiring artist, paints two paintings a day. He’s taken several classes, but this was his first time learning from Wade, whom he said offered several tips that he could use to improve his work. He mentioned toward the end of our class that he would love to sell a work one day and I, tongue firmly in cheek, offered him a dollar for the lovely Van Gogh-style plein air depiction he had just made of the Sawdust grounds.

His eyes widened.

A few minutes later, I had purchased my first piece of art by a Laguna artist, and both of us felt like the winner in the transaction. I got to come home from my class with a good painting, and he got to say that he’s sold his artwork.

He even told me he would frame the four quarters I gave him out of my meter fund.

Now that’s a successful venture, and one that reminded me of the eminently noble talent I forgot I had possessed: an eye for a killer deal.