So last week I’m scrolling through some art stuff online, right? Totally random. Stumble across this painting—dark blues, weird shapes, kinda ghostly vibes. Turns out it's by some Finnish artist named Ellen Thesleff. Never heard of her before. Felt like hitting a brick wall trying to understand why it looked… sad but powerful? Weird mix. So I figure, why not try messing around with her style myself?
Getting Started With Zero Clues
First thing: grabbed my sketchbook and a cheap charcoal pencil. Didn’t overthink it—just started slapping thick, messy lines on paper. No fancy materials, just whatever was lying around. Kept staring at pics of her work on my cracked phone screen. Seriously felt like I was scribbling nonsense for hours. Everything looked stiff, totally lifeless. Ugh.
Next day, gave up on the pencil. Switched to this grimy tube of blue acrylic paint I’ve had for years. Mixed it with way too much water. Sloshed it onto thick cardboard from an Amazon box. No brushes—used an old rag to smear it around. Messy? Absolutely. But suddenly… it started feeling loose. Raw. Like her stuff. Tried dragging the rag in long streaks to mimic those shadowy figures she painted.
Hitting the Wall
Biggest struggle? Those faces in her work. Hazy, almost like you're seeing them through fog. My attempts looked like muddy blobs. Got so frustrated I almost tossed the whole thing. Took a break. Made coffee. Stared out the window instead.
Came back later. Switched tactics:
- Smeared Vaseline on the cardboard first—heard it resists water
- Dripped super thin paint over it
- Used the corner of an expired credit card to scrape lines into the wet paint
Kinda worked? The paint pooled weirdly where the Vaseline was, leaving those pale, faded gaps Thesleff used. Still looked like a hot mess, honestly. But closer.
The Turning Point
Started focusing less on copying and more on the feeling. Put on some gloomy piano music—felt right. Let the paint drip down the cardboard. Smudged it with my thumb, fingers, whatever. Didn’t care about “making something good.” Just let it be ugly and emotional. One piece accidentally ripped while I was scraping it. Left the tear visible. Huh. Reminded me of her frayed edges. Kept it.
Ended up with three soggy cardboard pieces drying on my radiator:
- One all watery blues and torn edges
- One with thick charcoal lines scratched into gray paint
- One where the Vaseline trick left ghostly white shapes in a dark wash
None look "finished." None are pretty. But together? They feel honest. Moody. Like they’ve got something heavy sitting underneath.
Why Bother Messing With Old Art?
Honestly? Learned more from messing up this week than from years of "proper" art stuff. Thesleff worked through grief, isolation—big, heavy things. My cardboard experiments? They’re not masterpieces. But sitting with that struggle, that frustration? Felt real. Felt like touching something way older than me. And that’s enough.
