I attended a watercolor class with Jean Haines in New Orleans recently. From the first time I saw her work I loved it. The first time used her book to walk me through her process, I loved my own work.  In fact, I was almost giddy with the accomplishment.

But only the first time. There were many failures after that. Part of the wonder of Jean Haines' work is not using a pencil, it is the direct application of the image with watercolor, which demands not only attention to placement and the ability to plan ahead but most importantly complete self confidence. The first time I tried I didn't have any fear of making a mistake -- I'd never done it before, it was a game. After that I had to live up to my first, spontaneous work ( which was not without error but perfect to me) and the tighter I got, the worse the paintings. Sheet after sheet went directly into the bin. So much for practicing to be great in class.

The class was one of the largest I've ever been in and I had a great deal of trepidation about my ability to do anything worthwhile. I'd brought a whole file of photographs to work from, my own photographs and things that were well within my comfort zone, mainly horses. But the class was about flowers and birds. Thank you google for allowing me to find an image to work from. The hummingbird developed first from the eye-- too large I thought. I struggled to make it work. Even though I personally  did like what I had done, I was sure it was really  awful in comparison to others. When it came time from her to come around to my table I pointed out all the mistakes and exuded discouragement. Now let me say at this point that Jean Haines is one of the most positive people you will ever meet. I encourage you to pick up one of her books or watch her DVD if you need a little shot of uplifting attitude. But she didn't just make noises about my work, or point out good points to counter the mistakes I had pointed out. No. She looked at me and said " If I had done this you would be clamoring about trying to buy it. You don't like it because you did it, and you have told yourself that it can't be good if you did it."

This was a shocking insight into me, my work, and my state of mind. Not about what a great work I did -- in fact, I rather tensed up after that and struggled some and it definitely did not match her own work-- but because it was unexpected, like catching oneself in a mirror and seeing yourself as others see you, not the posed image you make for yourself in the mirror. It was a very true thing to say, and it was the very thing that was holding me back. I will never forget that class, or Jean Haines, or that insight, even if I never master watercolor the way Jean Haines does.

For some reason I could not wait to try out the things I picked up in class with Daffodils. I picked these here in Atlanta by the side of the road.When I lived in Arkansas you could often see sudden bursts of daffodils out in the middle of the pasture or somewhere totally unexpected. The daffodils marked an old homestead site, long gone, where someone lovingly planted them. All types of daffodils, old varieties, and they had multiplied and thrived long after the house had disappeared. Like flowers on a grave, but eternally springing up year after year, in remembrance of someone who loved them.