I talk a LOT about work on this blog, so to switch things up I’ll be talking about some non-work stuff that impacts the work stuff in different ways. In this ongoing series I’ll go in-depth about some distinctly non-work stuff I do to enrich my life and de-stress—things that put me in better shape for when it’s time to sit down and do the work stuff again.
Let’s get one thing straight: I love Bob Ross.
I used to watch The Joy of Painting as a kid on weekend afternoons, when I’d flip through the channels and always catch episodes at the halfway point. (As a result, I don’t recall ever seeing Bob Ross actually paint a sky.) I was fascinated by Bob’s soft, gentle voice, and his amazing landscapes: the sharp mountains cutting into the sky, the puffy evergreen trees, the reflective lakes, the multicolored rocks, and even his red-roofed shacks.
For those of you not in the know, The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross was a PBS show that produced new episodes through the ‘80s and ‘90s. Every episode featured Bob Ross with his permed hair, blue jeans, and plain collared shirt unbuttoned at the top, standing in front of the same easel in front of the same black background holding the same pallet covered with the same paints. Then he’d paint a landscape in twenty-five minutes, without telling you what he was going to paint, and it would look awesome every single time.
Bob Ross was able to create landscapes so quickly by painting on a wet canvas (“You’ll see I’ve covered this with a thin coat of the liquid white…”), which allows the colors to mix together more easily on the canvas without drying. He used big brushes (one or two inches) for a lot of the heavy lifting, plus painting knives for mountains and shacks, a fan brush for trees, and a thin liner brush for branches and detail work. He combined all of these elements like magic in a way that seemed effortless but was really carefully crafted and planned—for example, before each show he’d paint the same picture and place it off camera so he could refer to it during filming.
People also know Bob Ross from his soft, gentle voice and the way he talked about his paintings, which were full of happy little clouds, happy little trees, and happy little bushes. After painting one tree, he’d give that tree a friend. “In our world,” he’d say, “maybe there’s a big rock that juts out like so.” And my personal favorite: “It’s your world, and you can do anything.”
I love that phrase. “You can do anything.” It suggests that not only is the world of the painting your own to fill in however you want, but that you, too, can paint, or do any kind of creative work you want to do.
Why I Watch Bob Ross
All of the Bob Ross episodes are on Youtube, and there are like, hundreds of them. I watched a few for nostalgia when they came up on Netflix, then watched some more back in December during a nasty case of the flu. I’d been stuck inside for a week, was frustrated at my slow recovery, and needed something to clear my head. Bob Ross’s soothing voice and gentle landscapes were exactly the uplift I needed.
As time went on, I started pulling up Joy of Painting episodes at the end of the night when I was looking to de-stress. At first my reasoning was simple: it made sense to focus on something gentle before bed that wasn’t writing or creative work and didn’t require a lot of brainpower. They helped me detach from the thoughts and stresses of the day in a way that regular TV or even reading didn’t.
I also found myself pulling up episodes during rough patches (like after my book contract was cancelled), or especially when I felt down about my writing and needed a boost that would make me want to create again. Normally I look to books or movies when I need that kind of boost, but after watching Bob Ross I found myself getting excited about my work again, despite my being notoriously bad at art and not having picked up a paint brush since middle school.
And why was that, exactly?
The Joy of Painting Captures Masterful Creative Skill in its Purest Form
In several episodes Bob Ross mentions how he’s painted tens of thousands of paintings throughout his life, first when he did traditional paintings after his Day Job as a Air Force sergeant in Alaska, then over the decade that he did the Joy of Painting. His paintings include a lot of the same elements painted in the same way: the same mountains scraped on with the knife, the same reflections spread out with the two-inch brush, and the same trees painted in layers, but they differ in size, shape, and color enough to make them feel distinct. His movements are fluid, consistent, and you can tell he’s made each one thousands of times before. And when he makes a mistake (which he occasionally does) he slyly touches it up with the next set of strokes, or turns it into a natural part of the painting: “We don’t have mistakes, we have happy accidents.”
In short, he’s completely in control of all the elements of the painting at all times. He knows which colors to use, how to mix and spread them, and what they’ll look like on the canvas. He knows his tools intimately, and knows how to use, clean, and take care of them. He never fumbles or waffles in his work—he moves with complete confidence at all times.
That sense of control, of being the absolute master of your work, is what I strive for in my writing. Bob Ross uses canvases, brushes, knives, and a pallet; I use a Toshiba laptop, a printer, and blue Bic pens. Bob Ross manipulates colors and brushstrokes to get exactly the effect he wants; I manipulate words and ideas to get the effect I want. Bob Ross understands how all the different elements of the painting fit together; I have to understand how all the different elements of my writing fit together.
In this respect, painting becomes a case study in masterful creativity of any kind—by watching Bob Ross paint, we can observe the confidence and skill that the best creators are capable of. You see the kind of creator you could one day be, and that’s powerful motivation.
Watching Bob Ross is a regular reminder that I shouldn’t be messing around, and that I have to take my work seriously—but that I can also do that work with a smile, and in a style uniquely my own.
In my Day Job as a teacher I think about this too—ways I can present my material and create a unique, memorable teaching persona the same way Bob Ross cultivated his permed-hair, gentle-voiced TV persona for audiences who grew to know and love him. We can do this through confidence, distinction, and routine, as people learn what to expect of us and our work.
I want to be Bob Ross in all aspects of my life: in my writing, my teaching, on this blog, and in everything. I want to have that confidence, skill, and distinction. I want people to see that same confidence when they look at my work, and view me in the same way.
It’s a high aspiration, but I want to go for it.
A Legacy That Lives On
Bob Ross passed away from lymphoma in 1995 at the age of 52, but millions of people still watch him, and The Joy of Painting’s experiencing a resurgence as viewers young and old seem to be (dare I say it?) searching for something simple, relaxing, and lo-fi in these troubled times. Fans too are sharing their experiences with Ross’s work and discussing the effect he’s had on them.
Maybe that’s another aspect of being a creator as well—the idea that long after you’ve passed on, your work lives on in the hearts of those who enjoy it through the generations.