How My Cezanne Adventure Started
Okay, so I kept hearing about this guy Paul Cezanne being like the “father of modern art” or whatever. Big deal, right? Honestly, I figured his stuff just looked kinda weird, like unfinished puzzles. People rave about apples and mountains, but I didn’t get it. Figured I needed to actually try seeing like him, not just look.
Getting My Hands Dirty
Grabbed some cheap acrylics I had lying around – figured no point wasting the good stuff yet. Found a picture online of some apples on a rumpled tablecloth. Seemed simple enough. Plonked it up where I could see.
- First attempt: Slapped down what I thought the colors were. Crimson apple, green stem, white cloth. Made a perfect little cartoon apple. Felt… totally wrong, flat. Like a sticker on paper. Nothing like that weight Cezanne’s stuff has.
- Second round: Started squinting. Hard. Realized that stupid apple wasn’t just red. Saw blues, purples, yellows, even bits of green reflecting off the tablecloth. Madness! Dabbed on some purple next to the red. Added a chunk of blue shadow underneath. Suddenly that part of the apple looked like it was popping out! Did this for every little section. Took forever.
The Brushstroke Battle
Then came the next headache: how to actually put the paint down. My instinct was to blend everything smooth. Tried it. Instant mud soup. Gross. So, switched gears. Remembered seeing Cezanne used little directional strokes.
- The struggle: My damn brush wanted to go round and round. Forced myself to make tiny, parallel dashes. One set for the curve of the apple, another direction for the shadow it cast, totally different ones for the cloth folds. Felt choppy, awkward.
- The weird result: Stepped back. From across the room? Suddenly the apple had solidity! It wasn’t smooth, sure, but it felt heavy, real, sitting firmly on that messy cloth. The strokes themselves were obvious up close, but somehow worked together farther away. Mind blown.
Facing the Flatness
Biggest lightbulb moment? Realizing he cheated reality constantly. My tablecloth was draped, so logically the back should be “higher,” right? Instead of fighting with fancy perspective, I just… tilted it. Made the back part larger and higher up the canvas, like a kid might draw it. Put that unfinished edge right where the mountain tops would be in his landscapes – just stopping abruptly.
Felt totally unnatural. Almost stupid. But staring at the finished mess… it worked. The focus stayed on the shapes and colors, the feeling of the objects being there, not on some perfect window into reality. That’s the “modern art” spark right there.
My Totally Wonky Conclusion
So yeah, painting like Cezanne wasn’t about making a pretty picture. It was a workout for my eyes and brain. Constantly fighting the urge to paint what I knew versus what I actually saw. Tiny patches of unexpected color! Brushes dancing different directions! Ignoring the rules of making everything look smooth or perfectly 3D! It looked rough, unfinished, kinda chaotic close-up, but stepped back… wow. His genius was making simple things feel massive and solid through pure color and stroke. Still think his portraits look awkward as heck, but I finally get why he matters. Next time? Maybe brave a mountain. Or stick to apples.
