We've all experienced the "should-haves" at some point in our lives. I should have done this...or I should have said that. Regret usually follows, and it's not a good feeling to have. The latest "should-have" in my life struck me hard last week. It was an eye-opening experience for me and can be for others also through the reach of the internet and the blog posts that reside there. Read on and learn from my latest should-have and the regret that resulted.
In 2017, after dabbling in art for a couple years and watching tons of YouTube painting videos, I took a leap and called the studio of a professional artist in Oklahoma to book a few days of classes in acrylic painting, including a one-day private class. I was a beginner, after all, and needed all the individualized attention I could get. The artist's name? Jerry Yarnell. It was obvious from watching him teach his techniques that he was one of the best artists and teachers out there. I wanted to learn from him. I had to learn from him.
After booking classes, I started to second guess myself. What in the world was I doing? I'd surely embarrass myself in front of a professional artist. A few days before I was scheduled to travel, I got a call from the studio indicating that Jerry had come down with the flu and wasn't sure if he'd be able to teach during the days I was scheduled. They asked me to see if I could cancel my flight and hotel reservations. I was devastated but figured it was God's way of telling me I wasn't ready for this. So I called the airline and found out my airfare was non-refundable. My hotel...same. I called the studio back and let them know that, and they said they'd get back with me in a couple days. They called again to let me know Jerry was feeling better and class was a go.
Upon walking into Jerry's studio in Skiatook, Oklahoma, I was immediately star struck and found myself fumbling for even the simplest of words to say hello to him. The nervousness I felt quickly subsided, as I soon realized Jerry was as down to earth as they come...a genuinely nice man who really cared about his students.
I painted with a group of a few others in an open studio environment for three days where Jerry taught me how to paint skies, clouds, mountains, trees, rocks, and rivers. My brain was crammed full of information, all of which I carry with me to this day. On the fourth day, I attended a private class with him, and he taught me to paint my first animals. He had shelf after shelf full of binders, each of which was jam packed with reference photos of anything you could imagine. On the morning of class, he asked me what I wanted to learn to paint. I told him a wolf. He pointed to the shelves of binders and said "Go pick you a picture of one and we'll paint it".
All of the reference photos were cataloged with an organization that amazed me. Mountains in this binder. Rivers in that one. Wolves in another. It didn’t take long for me to find a gorgeous photo of a mama and baby wolf, and I went back to the easel where I was working with it. I asked if he had a way of enlarging it to 16 x 20, and he asked me why. I pulled out a piece of graphite transfer paper and told him I needed to get the image onto the canvas I had brought. (I hadn't yet learned to draw.) He looked at me and smiled and started slowly shaking his head. "We don't use that transfer paper stuff here", he said. My heart sank...I started to panic...face started to flush...and here came the embarrassment I knew I'd feel in front of a professional artist. I softly said, "I don't know how to draw." He smiled again and he said, "well, I'm about to show you how". And he did. He showed me how to measure objects to get the correct proportions and how to sketch those two wolves. When I finished, and it didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would, they actually looked like wolves. That entire situation could have gone much differently, and I could have been defeated. Instead, I felt accomplishment and confidence.
During the rest of the day, Jerry demonstrated his techniques for painting animals on my canvas. He painted one of the mama's eyes and handed me the brush. I painted the other. He painted one half of her nose and handed me the brush. I painted the other half. He added fur on her head. I added fur on the baby's head. And so on. At the end of the day, I left with a painting that was mostly finished of two wolves that he and I painted, together. I finished that painting on my own and will cherish it forever.
During those few hours, we talked about a little bit of everything...family, faith, illnesses, art, struggles, and joys...and it felt like I had known Jerry forever. He even guessed that I was an accountant. I asked him how he knew that...and he said because I was stingy with my paint. I can hear him now..."Put some paint on that palette!"
Jerry firmly, yet nicely, nudged me and pushed me out of my comfort zone. In doing so, he taught me that I could learn anything I set my mind to. After I returned home from Oklahoma, armed with some new skills and a new-found confidence, I decided to open an art studio. Inspired Brushworks was born.
I received the news this week that Jerry passed on May 6. He likely has no idea how much his instruction has played a role in where I am today. This thought gave birth to the should-haves. I should have told him. I should have thanked him. I should have called or sent an email...something...to let him know how appreciative I am for all that he did for me.
May this be a lesson to me and everyone out there reading this...say what needs to be said before it's too late. I guess I'll just have to wait now until I see him again in Heaven, someday. Until then, rest in peace, Jerry. And thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.