Pastels are sneaky. You pick one up thinking it is nothing more than simple chalk, and three hours later you have the floor of your kitchen table and your shirt full of a cloud of color you never thought yourself able to produce. That is the magic of this medium. learn pastel painting It moves fast, forgives only a little, and somehow pulls more instinct from you than many other artistic mediums.
A proper pastel class does not hold your hand too tightly. Week one, you are being taught what the tooth (the feel of your paper) does to each and every stroke. By week two you are layering colors that should clash but somehow cooperate. Honestly it is disorganized anarchy. You begin with humble exercises in light and dark — dull, it is, but those practice is gradually getting the groundwork laid, on which your pictures will not rest flat.
One habit you will likely pick up—good or bad—comes from blending with your fingers, though beginners are rarely told this. Most instructors will advise using a tortillon instead. Naturally you agree. Yet somehow your thumb ends up doing the job anyway. And sometimes, surprisingly, it works exactly as needed. Pastels allow a freedom of experimentation that oil painting often cannot tolerate.
Someone once described the experience as learning manual driving: clumsy at first, nerve-racking, and then it suddenly makes sense. That description is surprisingly accurate. The learning curve can sting at first, yet the slow periods rarely last long. You can often see improvement nearly every week.
The handling of color theory is what often distinguishes an ordinary course from an exceptional one. It is more than simple warm-and-cool rules; a small touch of violet in shadow can change the balance of the whole image. Keep your instructor should he or she be in love with that stuff, the reason behind color choices. Knowledge grows curiosity.