The Versatile Master Artist

Anna put down her oil painting brush,

On the canvas in front of the woman, a space of intertwined light and dark appeared.

Even though it was a copy,

Miss Elina skillfully adjusted the painting slightly, while retaining the general composition of Detective Cat.

In her conception,

she specifically increased the brightness of the starlight to create a three-dimensional visual illusion—it seemed to be placed far away from humans. She handled the distant desert in cooler colors and the nearer desert in warmer tones, because as the distance varies, the light changes in color temperature when it enters the human pupil.

The intense starlight reflected off the dunes and canyons into the backlit area, creating a wonderful, warm complementary color.

It was simply a textbook classic way of handling the image.

Perfect yet not old-fashioned, full of spirit.

Anna didn’t even need to think about any rigid compositional theories; when she saw the canvas, the handling method for relevant areas naturally appeared in her mind.

It came naturally, everything fell into place.

Unfortunately,

everything was fine during the conception, but after picking up the brush, it was a completely different story.

If her art appreciation ability was a full score of 100, her talent in painting wouldn’t even reach the passing score of 60, at best it might be in the single digits.

Anna looked down at her own palm.

Her fingertips were long, her skin pale and crystalline, her bones delicate and proportionate, suitable for a Cartier diamond ring advertisement.

But when she picked up a paintbrush... there was always a bit of... strange clumsiness.

It made no sense at all!

Unlike leg muscles, her hands had no physiological flaws; her bones were delicate and flexible, and from a young age, she even learned some classical instruments and showed considerable talent.

When Anna played the violin, she could easily handle complex fingertip movements like spiccato or vibrato, producing ethereal sounds without any hindrance.

As soon as it came to painting, regardless of how rich her theoretical knowledge was, she instantly became as flustered as a housewife who had just learned to light a stove facing a pot of oil.

Sometimes,

she could only helplessly conclude that she didn’t have a knack for it.

Not being good at something simply meant not being good at it.

Tall people aren’t all suited for basketball, and having long legs doesn’t necessarily mean one can become Bolt; it’s similarly nonsensical.

In the art world, it’s more common to encounter people who are either very talented or not talented at all in a particular form of creation compared to the sports field.

The ratio of the latter is even more common than the former.

What you desire yet cannot obtain,

what can you do about life?

Life is inherently unfair, and talent is just an insignificant part of it.

Anna was not an exception.

Almost every teacher who runs an art training class has encountered students of this type.

Some kids are naturally tone-deaf, with narrow vocal ranges. No matter how much they practice, they can’t draw a circle, and their spatial sense on paper is a mess.

It merely depends on whether the training instructor is willing to take the risk of offending to kindly inform parents that their child might not be suited for learning art.

Anna, unfortunately, encountered an area she wasn’t good at, coincidentally one she loved the most.

Coupled with the fact that her wealth allowed her to pursue what she loved without desires, she became so conflicted.

”Sluggish with the brush, emotionally wooden, amateur-grade paintings are wholly inadequate.” The girl mercilessly criticized her own work with the strict standards of the editor of ”Oil Painting”.

Anna knew before starting,

that she had no possibility of mastering the technique-demanding oil painting knife.

So Anna simply didn’t aspire to make knife paintings, keeping only the basic composition of Detective Cat and switching to her favorite Renoir-style brilliantly fragmented Impressionism.

The effect was still mediocre.

Similar to Gu Weijing’s attempt at line-drawing in the new style of painting.

Even though Impressionism isn’t renowned for its complex techniques, Miss Elina still found it very difficult to paint.

She nearly exerted all her strength to control the brush handle, battling with the disobedient brush; the expression of the soul and emotional involvement were completely off her mind.

Earnestly sincere—

that’s the emotional limit Anna’s painting technique could achieve through her efforts.

Li Bai’s passionate spirit was cast into an illiterate body, and Mark Twain, a great orator, was reincarnated as a severe stutterer.

Having keen passion.

Yet confined beneath the surface of the canvas by clumsy techniques like prison bars, unable to burst forth despite the overwhelming surge.

This was Anna’s most genuine feeling while painting.

”Sigh...”

Looking at the heavily crafted, rigid, and dull scene she completed, Anna let out a quiet sigh.

Two years ago,

when she was about to graduate, during her internship period, she followed a now-retired old editor of the ”Oil Painting” magazine to attend the finals of the Asian Children’s Artist Competition held by the Toyota Foundation in Tokyo.

The average age of those participants was even smaller than Miss Elina’s at that time.

Yet, each one’s painting skill already had the standards of some master artists, with astonishing talent and flair reflected in their brushwork.

Anna sat in the VIP audience seat, expressionless on her face but filled with envy inside.

She was born with things that most people couldn’t have in their entire lives; only the painting talent she most wanted to have, as her aunt had said, Anna indeed did not possess much of it.

And now the canvas oil painting in front of her, whether in technique or emotional effect, could not even reach the skin layer of Detective Cat Sister’s work.