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I spend a lot of time painting outdoors. This is usually a pretty solitary and pleasant pursuit but occasionally, when I'm painting close to civilization or even right in the city, onlookers will walk up to see what I am doing. Apparently, the sight of a man standing outside at an easel smearing paint around is remarkable. Imagine that.

I'm no longer bothered by people looking over my shoulder as I paint. Comes with the territory. I appreciate the folks who give me a silent wave or a thumbs up before they go on their way. Thank you. Other people seem to assume that since I'm working in public, I must be anxious for a little light conversation. I'm not, and I don't invite it, but when they say "Oh, that's beautiful," I say, "Thank you," while I carry on.

Almost invariably, their next line is "I'd love to do that but I can't even draw a straight line." At this point--because I try not to be rude, I really do--I'll usually say something like "Sorry, I can't stop to talk. I'm going to lose the light" and keep my brush moving. This usually does the trick and I'm left alone, for a while at least, to paint in peace. But I've given some thought to that "I can't even draw a straight line or a stick figure" comment. And so here's what I would say to these people if I were interested in talking, rather than painting.

You say you can't even draw a straight line? Well, why in the world would you expect to? Have you ever really tried to draw a straight line? Then tried again, and then again? Probably not. You just assumed that the ability to draw a straight line is inherent. You either have it or you don't. But why would you assume that to be true? Do you suppose that Mark Knopfler or Eric Clapton emerged from their mothers' wombs, tiny guitars clutched in their chubby baby hands, ready to lay down some twelve-bar blues? Might have happened that way, but I doubt it. And I'm pretty sure Rembrandt wasn't born with a pad and a pencil and the ability to draw either. My point here is that like playing guitar, drawing is an acquired skill. It's learned.

You want to draw? No problem. I can have you drawing in about five minutes. Go get a pencil and a piece of paper. Now sit down at your kitchen table and draw the hand that's not holding the pencil. Or your coffee cup, salt and pepper shakers, bottle of Tabasco (that one's harder than it looks), toaster, or whatever you're looking at. Okay, five minutes are up and you just drew. You probably didn't draw well, but you drew. Yup, you just drew. Now, if you want to draw well, that's a different kettle of ink. One way to improve is just to practice. Drawing is a process of training your eyes and brain to really see what you're looking at and then training your hand to put that on paper. So if you draw that same coffee cup again, then draw it again tomorrow, and the next day, etc., constantly looking for and correcting the inaccuracies, your drawing will improve. Better yet, get some help. There are lots of instructional books and we now have this internet thing, just full of really skillful people happy to show you how to fix your toaster, saddle your mule, and draw. There is more explanation, instruction, and inspiration on that Google machine than you will ever be able to take advantage of. Another avenue is in-person instruction or drawing groups. If you don't live in the boonies, you can go to your local art supply store and they will certainly point you in the right direction.

Here's my point. If you want to draw, you can learn. Straight lines, stick people, coffee cups, taxis and city buses, your husband with a beer in his hand. and his feet on the table. They're not going to be great drawings, they probably won't even be good drawings at first, but who cares? You're doing something you never thought you'd do: you're drawing! And then please, don't walk up to me at my easel and tell me you can't even draw a straight line. It's getting harder and harder all the time not to be rude.

                                                                                                                                                                                                          - Rod Gould