So, I decided I wanted to do a Remedios Varo self-portrait. Sounds grand, doesn't it? Like I'd suddenly channel this amazing surrealist painter. Spoiler: it wasn't that straightforward. It never is, is it?
Getting Started - Or Staring, Mostly
First thing, I pulled up a ton of her work. Just sat there staring at it for, well, longer than I’d like to admit. You look at her paintings and think, "Wow, incredible." Then you think, "How on earth did she even come up with this stuff?" It's all alchemy, weird contraptions, mystical characters, and those cats. Always with the cats, which, you know, I can appreciate.
My brain went something like this:
- Okay, self-portrait. So, my face. But Varo-style. What does that even mean? Her figures are so distinct, almost not quite human but more human than most, if that makes any sense.
- Then, the setting. My messy room wasn't going to cut it. It needed strange towers, or an impossible machine, or maybe me weaving starlight. The usual Tuesday afternoon stuff.
- And the mood. That introspective, slightly melancholic, super detailed vibe. Not exactly my default setting when I'm wrestling with a drawing tablet.
The Actual Attempt – A Comedy of Errors
I started sketching. My first few attempts at a "Varo-me" looked more like a startled ghost. Or a potato with aspirations. It’s funny how you see something so clearly in your head, and then your hands just go, "Nope, not doing that."
The Contraption Conundrum: I tried to design one of her intricate, magical-looking devices. You know, with gears and pipes and little glowing bits. Mine looked like a broken coffee machine had a fight with a plumbing diagram. It's harder than it looks to make nonsense look profound.
I remember this one afternoon, the sun was hitting my screen just right, making it impossible to see the subtle shades I was trying to blend. My dog started barking at a squirrel, and I nearly threw my stylus across the room. I thought, "Varo probably didn't have to deal with this. She probably had a silent, ethereal studio with perfectly diffused light and no barking dogs." But then again, maybe she did, and that's where all the tension in her paintings comes from. Who knows?
Why Was I Even Doing This?
You might be wondering why I put myself through this. Well, it was one of those weeks. You know the kind. Too much news, too much noise. I needed a project, something to get lost in. My friend, Sarah, she's always doing these art challenges. She made it sound so easy. "Just pick an artist you like and try their style!" she said. Easy for her, she can actually draw a straight line without a ruler.
I’d been cooped up, not really feeling inspired to do much of anything. My usual go-to, fixing that leaky faucet, suddenly lost its charm after the third attempt. So, Varo it was. A dive into surrealism seemed like a good escape from, well, the surrealism of everyday life.
Pushing Through (or Stumbling)
Eventually, I got something that vaguely resembled a human form in a Varo-esque setting. I focused on getting the elongated features, the sort of knowing, slightly sad eyes. I gave myself a weird, flowing cloak because that felt right. And, of course, a cat. Had to have a cat peeking from somewhere.
The Colors: Her palettes are often so muted, earthy, then BAM, a jewel tone. I tried that. My first color attempts were just…mud. It took a lot of fiddling to get something that didn't look like I'd just painted with ditch water.
The details were the killer. She has so many tiny, perfect little elements. I'd zoom in, try to replicate a texture or a tiny symbol, then zoom out and realize it was barely visible. Hours. For a speck. But that's the process, right? Or so I tell myself.
The Grand Finale? Not Quite.
So, is it a masterpiece? Absolutely not. Does it look exactly like a lost Remedios Varo painting featuring yours truly? Definitely not. But did I spend a good few hours (okay, days) completely absorbed in something other than my own worries? Yes.
It's… interesting. It’s got my face, sort of. It’s got weird Varo-ish stuff happening around it. I learned a lot about her technique, mostly by failing to replicate it properly. And I have a newfound appreciation for artists who can just do this stuff. It’s not magic, it’s work. Hard work. And maybe a little bit of magic after all.
Would I do it again? Ask me next week. Right now, I think I'll just go look at some more of her paintings and appreciate them from a safe distance.
