In the quest to becoming a versatile human being -- well, as versatile as I could go -- I began my personal "training" with watercolors. Prior to this post, I relayed how I got excited and bought a student-grade watercolor set and a brush, and subsequently realized how painting (and the arts, in general) could be so fricken expensive. 

Fast forward to last Saturday night and I finally put myself to the test.

While writing for an essay contest back when I was fourteen, a thought struck me and never left me since: there's an ocean in the sky. I couldn't tell what the exact context was, except that that was what the thought appeared to me -- there's an ocean. In the sky.

Maybe that it was vast. Maybe that it was blue. I didn't know, and probably would never get to understand.

Last February, I got to visit my old university for an exciting event: the Elbikon 2018. It was a play on words that put together Elbi (which was a colloquial term for my uni) and konbensyon (which literally means convention). To make it simple, Elbikon is a comics and arts convention.

There, I saw a watercolor painting that took my heart. And it brought me back to that moment when I was fourteen, and I thought that the sky was an ocean. 

There is an ocean in the sky, my fourteen-year-old self thought. Last February, it looked like I wasn't alone in thinking the same thing. I found this painting by a guy named Leo, and bought it from him for USD 1.44. 

I have been watching videos from Youtube (my go-to site when I want to learn something by myself) and I thought, "Hey, this should be easy." Guess what?

It isn't.

The only thing I knew I could learn this was by learning from example. So I searched Google and Pinterest for wonderful watercolor paintings, but none made an impression. Don't get me wrong: every single painting I came across was marvelous! It was just that for a beginner, I'd like to start with something that would bear some significance of sorts.

Then I remembered the small painting by Leo. I thought, "Hm. I could try and recreate the painting into a larger one."

And so I did.

I struggled. Bad. I only had one brush, and I realized that I should literally have a large arsenal of brushes. With different tips. But hey, one brush is better than none! (Re: my take on watercolor pencils.)

Then I tried to apply stuff I'd seen on Youtube.

Apparently, we can start with wetting the paper (make sure it's at least 200 gsm so you won't literally poke a hole through it) and then applying your watercolor. Caution: too much water can make the colors bleed too much, making it hard to control. I know, because I had a hard time working with it!

This one's done to put finer details on the painting. It's far easier to control your colors when the paper is dry. Brush tip would matter especially if you're meticulous with details; I could get pretty obsessive compulsive with finer details, but given my lack of brushes... I had to make do with whatever result I get.

Gradient's where it's at. The glory. Heh. I believe that transitions to other colors matter so much, thus the importance of gradient in paintings (especially watercolors). Of course, I'm not a watercolor pro -- heck, I'm below average -- but I get the feeling that truly, gradients make a watercolor painting even more beautiful. 

Apparently, you can create beautiful color transitions or gradients by dabbing the wet part of the painting with paper towel... not bath tissue or cotton, but paper towel (a video on Youtube said so).

It was definitely frustrating, but it was fun, too! You get to meditate (srsly) while trying to get the brush and water to work in your favor, and you get to amaze yourself when a part in your painting looked like a legit painting. I mean, my work for now isn't anywhere good, but someday, I promise. I will make something worthy of calling 'An Ocean in the Sky.'