Pick up a pastel stick and suddenly your brain goes on vacation. What was supposed to be a simple mark turns into a full-blown crisis. You hesitate, then make a scribble that looks more like a confused ghost than a pear. Another swipe? No better. But you keep at it. Your finger smudges a line sideways, and somehow, it starts to look like something—a slipper, a mushroom, maybe a mythical creature. The win? You made a start. More bonuses!
Pastels aren’t your obedient art tools. They’re fragile divas. Drop one and it shatters like it’s throwing a tantrum. Get some on your clothes and congratulations—you just joined the club of permanent “artist pants.” But that messiness is part of the charm. Pastels don’t reward control; they reward the bold and curious. When you stop chasing perfection, the whole thing becomes play, not pressure.
Sure, you could binge on pastel tutorials online, watching artists create flawless skies and perfect shadows. But your screen won’t giggle when your tree looks like a melted popsicle, or when your mountain mutates into a carrot gone rogue. That’s why being in a real class makes all the difference. It’s not just about technique. It’s about sharing awkward successes, silly fails, and the messy middle ground.
The folks teaching at The Tingology aren’t here to dazzle you with fancy art jargon. They’ll glance at your work and toss out gems like, “That cloud needs some attitude,” or, “Your sun seems a bit too chill.” It’s the kind of no-nonsense feedback that breaks down walls and lets you experiment without overthinking.
You don’t need to prep or hunt down mysterious art supplies. Everything’s ready when you walk in, scattered across tables like a creative garage sale. Pick a color, grab a stick, and dive in.
The real surprise? How fast the room shifts. People come in stiff and unsure, but after a few jokes about taxidermy bananas and haunted noses, tension melts. Laughter bubbles up. Applause breaks out when someone finally nails a nose that doesn’t look possessed.
It becomes a quirky little tribe. No resumes, no competition. Just folks from all walks of life, making marks because they want to. The serious-faced guy ends up sketching dancing chickens. The woman who swore she “can’t draw a straight line” creates a swirling forest fit for a storybook. No grades here. Just moments when someone pauses and says, “Hey, that’s actually pretty cool.”
You might leave with a smudgy, goofy portrait that makes you laugh every time you see it. Or maybe it ends up tucked under some mail. Either way, it’s yours. Made by you. In the moment. And that counts.
So, brush off the purple dust, name your accidental bear-dog, and stick it on the fridge—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real.