So, you’ve probably seen those Abraham Hunter paintings, right? The ones with the super cozy cabins, deer just chilling, and not a speck of dirt anywhere. They look pretty on a Christmas card, and honestly, I figured, how hard could it be?
The Grand Delusion Begins
It was one of those Saturdays. Pouring rain, absolutely nothing good on the telly, and the internet was acting up again. I’d seen one of his prints, something like “Twilight Haven” or whatever, hanging up at my mate Dave’s place. Looked all peaceful and glowy. “Reckon I could knock one of those out,” I said to myself. My wife, bless her, just gave me that look. She’s seen my DIY projects before.
Operation “Become an Artist” Gets Underway
First off, I went rummaging in the shed. Found some old acrylics the kids left behind years ago. Probably not the top-shelf stuff Mr. Hunter splashes out on, but hey, paint’s paint. Or so I thought. Grabbed a bit of dusty hardboard that looked vaguely canvas-like. I was all fired up. I even pulled up one of his famous cabin-by-the-stream pictures on my phone for “inspiration.” Looked simple enough. Famous last words.
The Actual Attempt: Where Dreams Go to Die
Let me tell you, getting that “magical glow” he puts in everything? Forget it. My cabin didn’t look cozy; it looked like it was either haunted or possibly melting. The trees I tried to paint? They were less “majestic forest” and more “sad, green lumps.” And the sparkling stream? Mine looked like a muddy ditch after a flood. I was at it for hours, honest. My back started aching, my fingers were all sorts of weird colors, and the air in the kitchen probably violated some environmental laws.
- That lovely soft sky he does? Mine went a sort of bruised purple.
- I attempted a deer. It came out looking more like a bewildered badger.
- Reflections in the water? More like a murky blob staring back at me.
A Harsh Dose of Reality
Turns out, this Hunter fella isn’t just randomly dabbing paint. There’s actual skill involved. Who knew? The way he gets the light to look like it’s really shining through the trees, the tiny little details you don’t even notice until you try to copy them… it’s a whole different ball game. My “serene woodland escape” looked more like a crime scene painted by a toddler.
What Became of My Masterpiece
So, where’s my painting now? It’s leaning against a wall in the garage, behind the lawnmower. Serves as a good reminder, that does. A reminder that some things are best left to the professionals. And that admiring Abraham Hunter’s work is probably best done from the comfort of my armchair, maybe with a biscuit. Not a total waste of time, mind you. The kids had a good laugh when they saw it. And I definitely learned how to mix various shades of unintentional sludge. Next rainy day, I’m doing a jigsaw. Much less messy.
