I used to think the word patience was a substitute for waiting. When we’re children and we want our Christmas presents, we’re told to be patient. When we’re demanding dessert earlier than usual, that word again – patience. We can’t wait to grow up, can’t wait for our next birthday party, can’t wait for our friends to come over. It’s no surprise then that we equate waiting with patience as we approach adulthood.
But patience, as I’ve learned, is something a little different. It’s not just waiting. It’s not just anticipating or looking forward to something, either. Patience involves a curation of the inner self. A change of viewpoint. The growth of a perspective on the world that isn’t just sitting on our butts and ‘waiting’ for something to happen – the inevitable birthday party or Christmas present. No, patience is active.
People say watercolour is the most difficult medium but I don’t agree. I think what they really mean when they say that is that unlike oils or acrylics, watercolour requires much greater levels of patience. It’s not watercolour that’s the hard bit, it’s actively understanding ourselves as we pursue something out of reach of instant gratification.
When I reflect on what taught me patience, I can’t help but come to the moment I begun watercolour. With oils and acrylics, it’s possible to paint all day. I mean, physically put brush to canvas as much as you like. But to achieve beautiful watercolour, it’s the moments between when the brush and canvas come together that are important. Watercolour, above all mediums, requires time; time for the paint to settle into the fibres of the paper, time for the heat of the room to evaporate just-enough water so that the next stroke can be placed, time for the pigment to settle evenly or unevenly as gravity decides. Those in-between moments involve more than just waiting. They are shaped by the teleological pursuit of a glowing result. There is constant inner-cultivation and reflection that grows the more I paint with watercolour. It leads to an active acceptance that, in life, some things cannot leapfrog, or fast-forward through that universal vector of time. It creates an awareness of all things physical.
There’s no doubt in my mind that patience is not passive. It’s different from sitting at the bus-stop without getting frustrated that the bus has not yet arrived, even though it’s 20 minutes behind schedule. Sitting at that bus stop, day after day, will not make one a more patient person. Patience requires the active and persistent observation of oneself and one’s place in the world. It’s not simply about waiting for something to happen, it’s about a journey to the acceptance of the fact that we are not always in control, that we can’t have that thing right now, and that it’s OK.