I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been more of a hands-on learner. Give me a book of spells to read, and I can study for hours—but art? Well, that’s been a bit more challenging for me. I’ve always admired beautiful landscapes, colorful scenes, and intricate patterns, but painting? That’s a whole different skill set. Or at least, I thought it was.
A few days ago, my father surprised me with something I didn’t expect. No, it wasn’t another magical artifact or ancient tome (though that wouldn’t have been too surprising either). Instead, he presented me with a set of scrolls. Old and worn, they looked like something you’d find hidden in the deepest corners of the tower. But the most surprising part? They were filled with vibrant paintings from a man named Robert Moss.
Now, I’m no stranger to art in this world. I’ve seen sculptures, sketches, and the occasional painting scattered through our archives, but these? These were something else entirely. The scrolls were filled with landscapes—beautiful rolling hills, calm rivers, and serene mountains, all bursting with color. The best part? The captions that accompanied each scroll. They were filled with this odd but comforting philosophy about "happy little trees" and how "mistakes are just happy accidents." It was almost as if the painter was there beside me, encouraging me to dive in and create without fear.
My father said he had found them while traveling through an old market in a nearby town. Apparently, Robert Moss was some kind of famous artist known for his calming approach to landscape painting. The paintings were supposed to be therapeutic in a way—something about the brushstrokes working their own magic. To be honest, the whole thing sounded a bit like mumbo jumbo at first, but I decided to give it a try.
I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but I found myself unrolling one of the scrolls the next day. It had a simple landscape: a small stream winding through a meadow, with trees surrounding it. It looked peaceful—too peaceful. I stared at the page for a while, wondering how on earth I could even begin to recreate something like that. My fingers hovered over my brush as I nervously dipped it into the paint. The moment I touched the canvas—nothing happened the way I imagined it. The strokes were too heavy, the colors too bright, and it didn’t look anything like the scroll I was copying.
I wanted to throw the whole thing aside and go back to something I was better at (like reading a book or making an illusion), but I paused. I remembered what the scroll said: “There are no mistakes, just happy accidents.” So, I kept going. I added more strokes, more colors, and before I knew it, I started seeing something that resembled a landscape. It wasn’t perfect, not by any means, but there was something about it that felt... good. Almost calming, like I had created a piece of peace.
I’m nowhere near ready to call myself a painter, but it’s an interesting feeling, trying something new and finding comfort in it. My father would probably tell me to focus on my studies, but he’s always encouraged me to explore my interests, even when they’re messy or imperfect. And this painting thing? It’s turning out to be a bit of an unexpected way to unwind.
As for Robert Moss, I’m starting to see what the fuss is all about. His approach to art isn’t about perfection; it’s about expression. It’s about enjoying the process, not just the end result. If only I could convince my father to take a break from his books and try it out too—maybe we could even paint something together. Imagine that! Father with a paintbrush, encouraging me to “add a little happy tree” in my painting.
I’ll keep trying. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll get good at it. For now, I’m just going to keep painting—and remembering that every little mistake could be a happy little accident.
— Sarra
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