How I Started Painting:
The Story of My First Canvas
When I was in my final year of kindergarten, I was fortunate to have an exceptional teacher who sparked a passion for art in me. I remember that year as a time when my creativity truly took flight. It was at the school in Créteil, in the Paris region—a simple place, yet perfect for discovery.
It was there that I met Fabienne, my teacher, who played a decisive role in my artistic journey. Fabienne took our little class of 4- and 5-year-olds on a trip to Auvers-sur-Oise to visit Van Gogh’s house. This experience marked the beginning of my love for painting.I don’t remember all the details of that trip, but some memories remain vivid. The smell of the fresh air, the excitement of being outside the school, and above all, the feeling of being accompanied by my mom, who had joined us for the outing. I was so proud to have her by my side. It was a moment of sharing, joy, and, let’s be honest, a little bit of tiredness too.I remember being hungry and dreaming of biting into the turkey sandwiches my mom had lovingly prepared that very morning. It’s a simple memory, but it carries so much warmth.
I also recall the BIG adventure of boarding a vintage train carriage for the journey. A detail that fascinated me at the time, but which, in retrospect, added to the authenticity of that day—a day that would, in the end, fuel my imagination for years to come.
Back in class, Fabienne suggested we create paintings inspired by what we had seen in Auvers-sur-Oise. This moment was pivotal for me, as it marked the very first time I held a paintbrush to create something unique. Unlike many of my classmates, who naturally gravitated towards iconic works like Starry Night or Sunflowers by Van Gogh, I chose to paint a flower pot.I remember being captivated by the simplicity and beauty of the scene—the harmony of the colors and the texture of the petals. Je me souviens avoir été captivée par la simplicité et la beauté de cette scène, l’harmonie des couleurs et la texture des pétales.
Flowers in a Blue Vase, 1887
Flowers in a Blue Vase,
Jessica Lundi-Léandre, 2004
I remember the pride I felt when I looked at my finished painting. It was a small creation, yes, but to me, it represented a huge accomplishment. My mom, who had always been my greatest supporter, was impressed, and it encouraged me immensely.
Since that day, I continued to draw, paint, and observe the artists around me.I was fascinated by their work, their worlds, and the way they could transform a simple canvas into a space of expression. I asked questions, trying to understand the how and why behind every gesture, every brushstroke. I wanted to be better—always more precise, always bolder. Even though I was still very young, this drive for perfection and curiosity marked my journey. I wasn’t just a child who drew; I was already an aspiring artist, eager to learn and eager to improve.
And today, every time I start a new canvas, I think of that first painting, that simple yet profoundly symbolic flower pot. It wasn’t just a painting exercise; it was the first step on a path that has led me to where I am today. Every stroke I make, every color I choose, every moment spent in front of the canvas resonates with that time when, as a little girl, I believed art could be my language, my space of freedom.
Tout simplement émouvant ..d’autant plus que j’ai ce décor en mémoire,
pour avoir visité la maison de Vincent également (à un âge plus avancé!).
En lisant vos lignes, j’ai ressenti le sourire de Vincent à l’idée qu’il a peut-être contribué à faire naître en vous une belle vocation.