Colour palette

The teacher set the canvas down on the easel before the class. Many “oohs” and “ahhs” erupted from the students as they admired the experienced skill displayed in the painting.

Calloway leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, assessing the picture. Something about it didn’t impress him like it did the other students. It was too… bland.

A painting of grey concrete and stone. The sky was smokey and cloudless. Sure there were great techniques throughout, but there was no life. No heart. Not a bird in the sky, or a person on the footpath.

“Now you lot will do the same. Apply the techniques we’ve learned in class. De-code the manual to good art. Only then will you understand what it means to be an artist worthy of success”. The teacher began. “Capture the eye that will buy. Think modern. Think innovative. Think practical”.

Something about those words did not ring true to Calloway. He tapped his pen on his desk, fighting the urge to speak up and give his opinion. When another student asked a question about the assignment, he decided it was best to hold his tongue.

He soon packed up his books and pens as class was dismissed, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading towards the front of the class where they were to collect their individual prompts to base their paintings on.

Calloway looked down at the small square of paper he had received. It read, “A peaceful place”.

The cogs immediately began turning in his mind, thinking up ideas for his upcoming artwork.

His focus was broken when a voice suddenly addressed him.

“You have promising talent,” His teacher, Mr. Kress, stated. “One of the best from your class in my opinion.” He jabbed a finger towards Calloway's chest. “You have the makings of a successful artist.”

Calloway, surprised, thanked him before hurrying out.

‘You have the makings of a successful artist’. The words rang in Calloway's mind as he walked home.

He’d always hoped he could make something of his skill. Not many people paid notice to his art so he’d always thought his skill was perhaps mediocre.

He walked on, reaching a small forest-like park, with an overgrown cobblestoned path winding between the trees. Calloway followed the mossy stones as he always did, passing the mildew covered vintage gazebo, with wooden benches that looked more like a lavatory for birds.

Calloway continued down until he reached the small clearing that met with a shallow stream running over multicoloured pebbles. Warm sunlight filtered in from the top of the clearing, casting a golden glow over everything.

He unslung his bag from his shoulder and threw it down onto the viridescent grass, followed by himself. His legs outstretched before him as he leaned back on his hands. Inhaling deeply, as he took in the scent of the honeysuckle lining the clearing.

“Now this is a peaceful place.” He muttered to himself. “This, in itself, is art.”

The next day, when class commenced, Mr. Kress pointed to some words written on the board. In large bold letters, it read,

“Ordinary skills lead to an ordinary life. Extraordinary skills lead to a successful life.”

“I want you to take this and really think about it. What makes extraordinary skills? Something people think isn’t possible…. Perfection! And the industrialisation of the modern world is the perfect example. Clean cut and uniform. Because we keep working on that same structure until it becomes better and better. Choose your skill and master it. People want reliability. Help your customers trust that they know what they are getting every time. Predictability is your safest net”.

“Sir, predictability is not extraordinary though.” Calloway finally disagreed, raising his hand. “It is in fact the most ordinary, ordinary can get.”

“But predictability gives you safety, safety gives you comfort, comfort gives you time, time gives you practice, practice makes perfection and perfection is extraordinary.”

“But is there any love in what you do when you don’t explore?”

“I love my success. These paintings make me successful.”

“But what is success?” Calloway asked.

“Success is winning in life. You have to ask yourself what that looks like to you.”

“So what does winning in life mean to you then?” Calloway asked.

“Accomplishing what I want to the highest possible calibre I can achieve. And getting there no matter what. So I may be recognised by the world. And when the world recognises you, fame and fortune become your friend. And that is success.”

Calloway was drawn silent from that response. It somehow felt off…. Superficial. “Haven’t you lost the meaning of art sir? This is art class, not business class.”

“Art is of the highest importance in business. Believe me. If you love art, you should love business. Because the only way your art will mean anything, is when someone else says it does… with their money.”

Calloway felt like this entire conversation was grey. Nothing stood out to him. Nothing inspired him. Nothing felt like art. It all just felt grey.

“Talk to me after class Calloway, I’ll be able to better explain.” Mr. Kress finally decided.

Calloway nodded before resting his head in his arms, blocking out the rest of class.

He woke to a slow tapping sound. As he came to, it dawned on him that he was still in class. He shot up, sitting straight in his seat. “Sir! Sorry I must have fallen asleep.”

“You must have indeed.” Mr Kress nodded calmly. “Have you begun your sketches for your assignment?”

Calloway shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Let me know when you do, I’m curious to see.”

“Yes sir.” Calloway said, nodding his head vigorously.

“Did you have any more questions about my view on art?” Mr Kress cocked his head slightly. “Don’t be shy, speak your mind.”

Calloway wracked his brain trying to think of more questions. “Did you always view art this way?”

“What way?” Mr Kress asked curiously, pulling up a chair from the row of desks behind him.

“You know, like…. Just a means to make money.”

“Do you deny you’d love to make a job from your art?” Mr. Kress began.

Calloway shook his head. "Certainly not opposed to the idea,” he admitted.

Mr. Kress sighed. “Calloway, I once was as determined as you... But there came a time where I realised, I didn’t want to just be that boy who painted in the small corner of his room, where his works never saw the light. In an industrialising world, I wanted my art to be the industry. I didn’t want to just paint when I could find the energy because I was too busy. My passion alone wouldn’t get me there. I stopped painting for my eyes and started painting for the world. When I looked around, I saw perfect, uniform structures and I knew I needed to go that same direction. There’s hardly a difference between my paintings. But there is no fault to them…. I have perfected the art of my craft by doing it, again and again and you can too.” Mr. Kress finished, “Anything else you’d like to ask?”

Calloway shook his head. “Thank you sir.” He quickly rose from his seat and headed out.

On his walk back, Calloway stopped by his peaceful place, the little clearing by the shallow stream. He decided it would be a good time to sketch up his designs.

He took inspiration from his surroundings as he sketched trees, plants, a brilliant sky and luscious grass. His peace. But all the while Mr Kress' gloomy words echoed in the back of his mind. Surely he could make the world appreciate art through his own eyes. Isn’t that the beauty of art? Getting to see the world through another’s lens?

Calloway sighed, packing his sketch book and pencils and headed on home.

“Cal! You’re home!” Calloway's mother beamed as he entered through the front door, taking his green canvas shoes off and placing them on the bamboo rack.

“I bought something for you today,” she said excitedly, rummaging through her shopping bags piled on the dining table.

“For me?” Calloway asked curiously, coming over to see what it was.

She made a sudden squeal-like giggle as she pulled it from the bag. “Here you go! Isn’t it cute!?”

Calloway took it from her grip and assessed it. It was a small tin with vintage style patterns etched into the top of the case. He unlatched the little hook holding the tin closed. Inside was an array of tiny watercolours. There was a small slot that held a miniature paint brush to match the set. Calloway slipped it into the chest pocket of his flannel and gave his mother a big hug.

“I’ll be sure to never part from it.” He thanked her. “Oh and Mum, I'm going to meet with Myles this afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” she nodded. “Be back before dinner.”

Calloway began changing, placing his flannel on the corner of his desk, digging through his drawer for a T-shirt. He picked up a pair of socks from his room floor and raced out the door, hopping as he slipped his shoes on. He sprinted to the usual tree he and Myles met at.

“How’s it going?!” Myles clasped hands with Calloway. “How’s the art classes?”

Calloway looked a little uncertain, “I don’t know if the way I’m going is leading me anywhere.”

“Man, your art is real, and eye capturing. Trust me, keep at it, it’ll make its mark some day.” Myles reassured. “It’s already made its mark for me. And you know what else?”.

“What?” Calloway asked.

“Getting something to eat. Let’s go”.

“Okay but it’s gotta be something small, mum’s making a good dinner.” Calloway responded.

“You got it,” Myles laughed.

The next day Calloway approached Mr. Kress with his sketches. “Sir, you wanted to see these?”

“Ah yes,” Mr. Kress took the sketches and looked at them, furrowing his brow. “these are too complicated, you’ll never master the skill for so many elements. Try to simplify your painting.”

“Won’t it take away from it?”

“No, it is taking away from your skill how you’ve currently designed it”.

“…I’ll see what I can do”. Calloway nodded.

Back home Calloway stood at his easel and reluctantly took a few elements from his painting away. “I guess it still looks nice,” He decided.

He looked down at his paint palette and dipped his brush into the blue. “This is my dream,” He muttered to himself as he painted the sky. He took a step back and looked at the painting.

“What’s the matter?”. His mother asked, noticing his troubled expression.

“Does something seem off about it?” He asked.

“It looks amazing. Trust your gut Cal, you are a skillful painter.”

Calloway nodded and exhaled, looking back down at his paint palette, dipping his brush into the green.

“What do you think of this?”. Calloway asked Mr. Kress the next day, holding up his mock-up painting.

“Better,” Mr. Kress nodded, “but still too many elements”.

“Still?”

“Calloway, would you like to improve?”

Calloway nodded.

“Then answer me this. Name five elements that make you who you are, what you live for and why you paint.”

“Uhh…”, Calloway took a moment to think. Finally he began, “my dreams…. As vast and endless as the sky. My values, that are deeply rooted within me. My family, who provide stability, support and keep me grounded. My friends, that add colour to my life….. and my passion… to paint”.

“Why is your dream so unreachable? The sky?” Mr. Kress asked. “Why don’t you try a tall building instead? You can reach it. Take the steps until you reach the top. Choose just one dream that fits at the top of the building. Not an endless sky.”

“But I’ll eventually reach the end…. What do I do once I reach my dream?”

“Why would you want anything else once you’ve reached your dream?” Mr Kress asked.

“I… I guess that's true”.

Calloway pulled up a new canvas at home and tried again. When he looked down at his paint palette, he realised his blue was gone. “Maybe I’ll just use the grey…. A stormy sky,” he decided.

Calloway ran back to class the next day and showed Mr. Kress his improved painting.

“You’re getting better. But….”

“But?” Calloway asked curiously.

“Do you still want to be that lowly boy painting in the corner of his room, forever unnoticed? Simplify the painting. It’s a cheat code to perfection.”

“But I value the hard work that comes with painting….”.

“No one else values your hard work, until you make it better”. Mr. Kress simply said before walking away.

Calloway went back home and tried again, first painting the stormy sky.

“Now for the trees”, he said looking down at his paint palette for the brown…it was gone. “Maybe I’ll just paint buildings instead”, he decided, dipping his paint brush into the grey paint.

“Ooh this is different to the usual”, Calloway's mother said walking past.

“You don’t like it?”. He asked hesitantly.

“It’s perfectly fine, as long as you trust your gut,” she smiled.

Calloway yet again ran to class, eagerly awaiting Mr. Kress’ criticism.

“Let’s see,” Mr. Kress said as he began to assess the painting.

“My mum seemed a little surprised by the painting yesterday…. I’m feeling like this style maybe isn’t for me…”

Mr. Kress exhaled. “Your family is holding you back.”

Calloway looked surprised.

“You rely too much on what they say”. He continued. “You said they keep you grounded, but if you hold onto the grass too tight, it’ll just rip out of its roots. Try something that cements you instead….. like uninterrupted ambition. Determination”.

Calloway hesitated for a moment.

“You want to achieve your goal don’t you?”.

“Yes sir”, Calloway submitted.

Back home, Calloway began painting the stormy sky, the tall grey buildings and then the ground-

“Cal? Would you like something to eat?”His mother interrupted.

“No thank you”, Calloway said, brushing her off.

“Are you sure? You’ve been working so hard. Come take a break”.

“No. No break. Please I just need an uninterrupted space to perfect my craft.”He said, almost robotically.

“…. Okay then”, his mother said skeptically, shutting the door behind her.

Calloway exhaled and looked down at his paint palette. He was surprised to see his green was missing. “I guess I could paint a cement footpath”. He dipped his brush into the grey paint.

Weeks went by and Calloway worked harder everyday to improve. His skill and technique bettered dramatically and Mr. Kress was most pleased.

“This is the caliber of art I wish to see from you,” Mr. Kress said to the class, showcasing Calloway's latest painting.

“Wow Calloway, it practically looks like a photograph”, the girl sitting next to him said. Many of the other students nodded to him with impressed looks on their faces. Calloway was finally receiving the recognition he’d dreamed of….. but-

“But?” Mr. Kress raised a brow.

“I’m so incredibly bored”, Calloway admitted.

“Must just be a slump. Keep practicing.” Mr. Kress brushed him off.

“I can’t practice this afternoon, I’m meeting with my friend.”

“Well that's why you’re bored…. Your friends are distracting you”.

Calloway winced, “I feared that”.

“You know what to do.”

“Yes sir,” Calloway sighed.

“Cal!”, Myles beamed, waiting outside of Calloway's class.

“Not today Myles”, Calloway said, continuing past him. “Too much work, I need to get better.”

“But you’re already good.”

“Not good enough”, Calloway said, not looking at Myles.

“Alright then….,” Myles said disappointedly. “Just don’t lose yourself”.

“What?” Calloway said, turning around. But Myles was already walking away.

Calloway headed past his peaceful place and continued onwards, to the city instead, hoping for some inspiration. He sat on a silver bench, staring up at the grey, looming buildings, casting their shadow over him.

When he got home he immediately went straight to his room, to begin painting again. Grey sky, grey buildings, grey ground. He looked down at his palette for red, to paint the flowers….. it was gone.

“I guess I could paint lamp posts?”. Calloway decided, dipping his brush into the grey.

He took a step back to assess his painting. His eyes widened in horror. It was just a slab of grey. Every brush stroke melded into the other because it was all the same grey.

He stood, frozen, staring at the canvas. “I’ve lost my passion”. He muttered in disbelief.

He made his way to his bed and slumped down on it, staring stunned at his room. It had grown dull and colourless.

In the gloom, a red glint caught the corner of his eye. It was the red flannel he had left on his desk weeks ago. He picked it up, sliding it on as he raced out of the house.

He ran and didn’t stop until he reached his peaceful place. He looked around. It had prospered since he’d seen it last, and he’d missed it all. He dropped down onto the lush grass, riddled with yellow dandelions.

He placed his hand over his heart trying to ease the ache…. When his hand hit something in his pocket…. His watercolour set.

He quickly pulled his sketch pad out of his pocket and flicked to a blank page. When he opened the watercolour set, he was delighted to see that blue was there. He dipped his brush in and began painting, all his dreams flooding back to him.

He began painting his surroundings, browns, reds and greens. He felt his spark reignite as a smile grew on his face.

The due date to the assignment came and Calloway handed in his painting, ‘Peaceful place’. It was a picture of a little forest clearing with lush, green grass, deeply rooted brown trees, an array of colourful red flowers and a vast blue sky. This truly was his passion.