 Having bought the colours, an easel,
and a canvas, the next step was to begin. But what a step to take!
The palette gleamed with beads of colour; fair and white rose the
canvas; the empty brush hung poised, heavy with destiny, irresolute
in the air. My hand seemed arrested by a silent veto. But after all
the sky on this occasion was unquestionably blue, and a pale blue
at that. There could be no doubt that blue paint mixed with white
should be put on the top part of the canvas. One really does not
need to have had an artist’s training to see that. It is
a starting-point open to all. So very gingerly I mixed a
little blue paint on the palette with a very small brush, and
then with infinite precaution made a mark about as big as a
bean upon the affronted snow-white shield. It was a
challenge, a deliberate challenge; but so subdued, so
halting, indeed so cataleptic, that it deserved no
response. At that moment the loud approaching sound of a
motor-car was heard in the drive. From this chariot there stepped
swiftly and lightly none other than the gifted wife of Sir John
Lavery. ‘Painting! But what are you hesitating about? Let me have
a brush—the big one.’ Splash into the turpentine, wallop into the
blue and the white, frantic flourish on the palette—clean no
longer—and then several large, fierce strokes and slashes of
blue on the absolutely cowering canvas. Anyone could see that
it could not hit back. No evil fate avenged the jaunty violence.
The canvas grinned in helplessness before me. The spell was broken. The sickly
inhibitions rolled away. I seized the largest brush and fell upon my victim with
Berserk fury. I have never felt any awe of a canvas since.
Excerpted from Painting as a Pastime by Winston Churchill.
© 1932 Winston S. Churchill
_________________________________________________________
 Painting is complete as a distraction. I know of nothing
which, without exhausting the body, more entirely absorbs the mind. Whatever the
worries of the hour or the threats of the future, once the picture has begun to
flow along, there is no room for them in the mental screen. They pass out into shadow
and darkness. All one’s mental light, such as it is, becomes concentrated on the task.
Time stands respectfully aside, and it is only after many hesitations that luncheon
knocks gruffly at the door. When I have had to stand up on parade, or even, I regret
to say, in church, for half an hour at a time, I have always felt that the erect position
is not natural to man, has only been painfully acquired, and is only with fatigue and
difficulty maintained. But no one who is fond of painting finds the slightest inconvenience,
as long as the interest holds, in standing to paint for three or four hours at a stretch.
Excerpted from Painting as a Pastime by Winston Churchill.
© 1932 Winston S. Churchill |
