SHORELINES

e sky gets darker as you look higher, he observes, and can contain every color in the rainbow, just as clouds are rarely all white and oen reflect what's below them. As he adds pale highlights, he explains, "I'm just putting some sun on the tops of these trees." Soon, we're all arranging vivid oil splotches on our palettes and sketching on blank canvases. "Have fun with it, don't take it too seriously," Austin says. "But put time into getting your drawing right. If you get your composition right, you can make the painting work." Practicing "rotational painting" – placing a given hue wherever it occurs on the canvas – reminds me of paint- by-numbers, but without the numbers. I'm rendering a photo of a pretty mountain meadow I used to hike across, suddenly aware that I'll be lucky to capture a fraction of its many shades and shadows. I draw comfort from our teacher's words: "When you get to 80 percent, stop. e mind's eye of the viewer will fill in the details, just as when you read a novel, you get a mental image of the characters." As with many pursuits, "the last 10 percent is oen the hardest," Austin notes. He circulates among us with words and brushstrokes, helping us fix flaws and add the extra touches that can bring a piece to life. With his aid, my meadow gains sorely needed depth and highlights. It's different from the photo, yet somehow evokes the spirit of place I remember. "Don't worry about technique – you'll develop your own technique," he declares, reminding us to think beyond the brush, that we can also apply paint with palette knives, rags and fingertips. e stereotype of the lonely, tormented artist has no traction here. e room-and-board package is optional (three Auburn residents commuted) but worth it for the chance to get to know each other better. e quarters are rustic but comfortable, the meals satisfying and convivial. All enjoy taking the boat to an al fresco dinner prepared by a chef (and family friend) at his lake house. Motoring back, we admire the moonlight on the water (as some, perhaps, consider how they might paint it). Creative pursuits that may seem like luxuries for much of one's life can become essential later. Birmingham's Langston Haygood paints despite — or because of — having macular degeneration; to compensate for blind spots, he magnifies images on a large computer screen in his home studio. Ben Downing, a retired Army colonel who lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia, is devoting his senior years to painting and travel. "Anything you do that engages the right side of your brain – I don't care if it's gluing macaroni to cardboard – helps you stay in the moment," he says. "I may not paint as well as Rembrandt, but I bet I feel as good as he did when I finish one." Austin believes artists are made, not born. "Painting requires passion and intellect," he says. "You don't need innate talent, you need desire and confidence, which grows with experience." e civilized lakeside sessions at the Tallapoosa School of Art are a fine way to gain it. For more information, visit tallapoosaworkshops.com. 8 | 2018 Vol:2

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