Back from France, Part 2: Lessons from an Art Retreat

Entry to the Le Vieux Couvent Studio. Don't let the cats in!

Bonjour! Today's post is a follow-up to my last entry listing my top twelve highlights while visiting Le Vieux Couvent, a rural art retreat situated in France's Dordogne region. In this post I'll be talking about my main reason for going: the art instruction!

Ever since my first art class and subscribing to my first art magazines with their colorful ads for international painting holidays, I've been hooked on the idea of signing up for one. I remember studying intently the photos of rosy little villages set against dramatic mountain landscapes, artists at their easels capturing light and atmosphere and everyone looking so happy--probably because of the many bottles of wine, wedges of cheese, and picnic baskets featured in the backgrounds. It looked wonderful and I would spend hours imagining what it must be like to be on one of those retreats.

Now that I've had the chance to actually find out first-hand, I can report the ads are true. Everyone is happy! The scenery is incredible. The wine and cheese? The best! Did I paint until I dropped? Well, let's just say I tried; because the number one lesson I learned from going on an art retreat is, it's all about:

Inspiration, not completion.

Here's why:

1. Travel is tiring. Although we were offered the opportunity to stay home on sightseeing days, there was no way I was going to skip 29,000 year old cave art or visiting a medieval village carved into the mountain tops. Often when I got there though, I didn't have the energy to open my paints and sketchbook and begin to work. No problem: I took beautiful photographs for future reference; bought scenic postcards; walked and walked and studied the sky, the hills, the architecture. I didn't need to sketch any of it to remember it.

2. The art instruction for the retreat I chose centered on splash ink, a Chinese technique I love for its randomness and sense of surprise. Our instructor, Ming Franz, made the class easy and supportive, even fun as we ran in and out of the studio trying not to drip paint and ink on the tiling, making sure the doors were closed behind us to keep out flies and inquisitive kitties, and waiting for the results while hoping it wouldn't rain (or that no one would turn on the garden hose). We worked hard for those papers, I can tell you! But by the time I had a workable and completely dry stack of pages, I was struck by the thought of "ruining them." I couldn't think of a single thing to paint.

Sumi ink and the 4 traditional watercolors that create a splash ink page.

Dried in the sun: now to figure out how to finish. So many possibilities--

More choices, choices, choices . . .

3. It's a bit difficult for me to paint or draw in a group setting. With the exception of some long-ago pastel studies, anything I have ever produced inside an art class ranks amongst the worst work I have ever done. I need to be home in my own space to truly feel comfortable. I need to stand up, pace, view pieces from varying distances, make cups of tea, flip through sketchbooks, do laundry (setting and working to the timer on both the washer and dryer is a great creative exercise), and clean up my work space while I "think." When I'm in a group I struggle to stay still and buckle down to what we're supposed to be doing.

4. Despite the charm of my "princess room" there was nothing remotely like a desk or table and chair for me to sit at and work in the evenings. It was impossible to draw or sketch other than sitting propped up in the bed, and if you've had any experience with French pillows, you might agree they are the worst in the world. I had five, including the bolster, and each one was too heavy for me to easily lift and place behind my back, let alone shift into position. I especially didn't want to spill paint or get ink on the sheets.

Those lead-weight pillows . . .

Inside the studio: not just for painting. Drinks were served promptly at 6.00 every evening. I could move and mingle as much as I wanted!

Despite the lack of a drawing board or similar in my bedroom, I did find a brilliant alternative: the sitting room assigned to the building I stayed in. Nice and quiet, lots of room to sprawl, a view of the beautiful gardens outside, it became the natural gathering place for what they called our "pod," i.e., the other four people residing in the building with me. (There were several throughout the premises; this one was ours.)

My "pod's" sitting room; one of my favorite places to be.

Every free moment when we weren't driving, eating, or sleeping, I looked forward to what became a daily ritual: tea and madeleines interspersed with conversation and shared art tips while I and the others practiced in our sketchbooks. There was even  a washing machine in the kitchen a few steps down from where we sat, so we could do laundry while we painted--just like at home. Listening to the chatter around me while I laid down casual, loose watercolor washes in my sketchbook helped me to relax. It wasn't splash ink per se, but it followed the same principles we learned in the studio and gave me more ideas and confidence for using my papers once I got home. 

And when I did get home, I was so ready to begin painting:

Experimenting with gouache and ink on a splash ink page at home.

I also couldn't wait to start some monochrome studies of Le Vieux Couvent for a more traditional watercolor approach down the road.

Art Graaf (water-soluble graphite) in my Canson mixed-media sketchbook.

Conté pencil on drawing paper.

Most of all I couldn't wait to start some experimental abstracts from memory, a practice someone in my pod suggested I try. My preferred mediums for that turned out to be my super-favorite Sennelier oil pastels along with Art Graaf, Neocolor II's (fancy water-soluble crayons) and Japanese sumi-infused shadow watercolors:

On the road to Saint-Cirq Lapopie.

 

Abstracted views of Cahors.

View from the bridge at Cahors. (With the help of a reference photo.)

I don't know of anything in life that ever works out exactly as planned or imagined, and "splash ink" couldn't have been a better metaphor for this particular trip. Every day I had to improvise: wearing strange clothing thanks to my missing luggage; finding my way through the rain when I thought I'd got lost in a total maze of a village where every medieval shop front looked the same; painting with with borrowed and unfamiliar brushes because the ones I'd packed were in that same delayed suitcase. Some days it seemed I was splashing too hard, others not enough. Eventually I learned to simply throw my artistic expectations into the air and let them fall where they may. A solution that in the words of my dear friend and mentor, the late artist and author Gordon Marlow, "couldn't have been perfecter."

Eat, sleep, purr . . . treats at 6.00 . . . 

Tip of the Day: Life is short--just go! (That was easy.)

Au revoir et merci, Le Vieux Couvent!