There was always something magical about pastels for me. Memories from childhood come back to me: dusty sticks, fingers painted with rainbows, and walls covered in static sunsets. You could have looked at a friend\'s pastel drawing with wide eyes and a desire to try it, dreaming of how to get those rich, buttery strokes. But where do I start? That's the question that everyone wants to know the answer to. 
It seems a little like jumping into the deep end when you sign up for a pastel painting class. There is an exhilaration, but there are also nerves. Everyone plays with the box of pigments in front of website them on the first day. You will observe other beginners breaking sticks, looking at color charts, and murmuring, "Is this the right paper?" The teacher, a cheery whirlwind, starts with the basics: how to smudge soft pastels and how oil pastels are as strong as sidewalk chalk but strangely silkier. Someone makes a joke about how they look like they fought a rainbow bear before you know it. The ice melts. Every session will have surprises, so be ready. Just the sort of paper might mess you up. Some days, your sunflower shines, and other days, it's just dirt. Don't let it get you down. Everyone in that class has thought that fixative was air freshener at least once. Ask questions. Laugh at your lemons that aren't quite right. Textures and mixing are like a dance. Sometimes it's a waltz, and other times it's an ugly shuffle. One time, during class, my neighbor's pastel blew up. There was pink powder all over the place. The teacher yelled. She said, "Now it's modern art!" That's the thing: accidents may become great works of art. Playfulness is what makes the course work. Teachers know what it's like to be frustrated, and they help you get through it. They give you strange advice, like using a small piece of foam or a bamboo skewer to scratch. Your hands get dirty, which is a sign of honor. Pastel painting classes teach you how to create still lifes, wild landscapes, and even silly portraits. There are moments when everyone is quiet and focused on their task. Some days, you all talk about color choices, how to mix colors, and how good it is to have messy fingers. You'll tell each other stories. The shaky lines in those early strokes turn into a wild, confident doodle by week six. People sometimes come with big ideas, like paintings of poodles or views of Tuscany. Most people leave happy with an apple that is unexpectedly expressive. Just let it go if you mess up. In a literal sense. Pastel is easy to work with. When the paper warps, the colors run together, and the hands get dirty, everyone laugh and someone always says, "Pass the baby wipes." At the end of each class, there are a lot of images, thanks, and promises to keep making things. Some of your classmates become friends. Some people leave with their pastel tubes and head into the sunset. You look at your gorgeous, untidy creation and know that you started off nervous but are now brave. That's what makes any decent pastel painting class great. And maybe the best way to describe doing anything new is to plunge in with your fingers first.
It seems a little like jumping into the deep end when you sign up for a pastel painting class. There is an exhilaration, but there are also nerves. Everyone plays with the box of pigments in front of website them on the first day. You will observe other beginners breaking sticks, looking at color charts, and murmuring, "Is this the right paper?" The teacher, a cheery whirlwind, starts with the basics: how to smudge soft pastels and how oil pastels are as strong as sidewalk chalk but strangely silkier. Someone makes a joke about how they look like they fought a rainbow bear before you know it. The ice melts. Every session will have surprises, so be ready. Just the sort of paper might mess you up. Some days, your sunflower shines, and other days, it's just dirt. Don't let it get you down. Everyone in that class has thought that fixative was air freshener at least once. Ask questions. Laugh at your lemons that aren't quite right. Textures and mixing are like a dance. Sometimes it's a waltz, and other times it's an ugly shuffle. One time, during class, my neighbor's pastel blew up. There was pink powder all over the place. The teacher yelled. She said, "Now it's modern art!" That's the thing: accidents may become great works of art. Playfulness is what makes the course work. Teachers know what it's like to be frustrated, and they help you get through it. They give you strange advice, like using a small piece of foam or a bamboo skewer to scratch. Your hands get dirty, which is a sign of honor. Pastel painting classes teach you how to create still lifes, wild landscapes, and even silly portraits. There are moments when everyone is quiet and focused on their task. Some days, you all talk about color choices, how to mix colors, and how good it is to have messy fingers. You'll tell each other stories. The shaky lines in those early strokes turn into a wild, confident doodle by week six. People sometimes come with big ideas, like paintings of poodles or views of Tuscany. Most people leave happy with an apple that is unexpectedly expressive. Just let it go if you mess up. In a literal sense. Pastel is easy to work with. When the paper warps, the colors run together, and the hands get dirty, everyone laugh and someone always says, "Pass the baby wipes." At the end of each class, there are a lot of images, thanks, and promises to keep making things. Some of your classmates become friends. Some people leave with their pastel tubes and head into the sunset. You look at your gorgeous, untidy creation and know that you started off nervous but are now brave. That's what makes any decent pastel painting class great. And maybe the best way to describe doing anything new is to plunge in with your fingers first.