I was first introduced to watercolour decades ago during a semester of fine arts at Nipissing University. Over the span of 14 weeks—one class per week—we dabbled in art theory and history, life drawing, ink painting, and of course, watercolour. It was just enough exposure to make me equal parts fascinated and intimidated.
Fast-forward to a couple of years ago (though don’t quote me on the timeline—I’m notoriously bad at tracking time), something reignited my interest in watercolour. I wish I could remember the spark—a person, a post, a painting—but it’s a mystery. What I did know was that watercolour, with its loose and fluid nature, was far from my comfort zone. As someone who tends to be a “detailist,” the abstract, impressionistic look of many watercolours left me both curious and uncomfortable. I wanted to loosen up, sure—but I also wanted to be able to tell what I had actually painted!
Like many people, I started with YouTube. I have hundreds of DIY videos bookmarked. And while there’s no shortage of amazing artists sharing their techniques, I quickly realized I needed something more structured. Then one day, while mindlessly scrolling Facebook reels, I stumbled across an artist painting the most charming birds. Now, I wouldn’t say I’m a bird person—they’re a bit too flighty for my liking. I prefer animals with four legs and fur. But these birds were beautiful. More importantly, they looked like actual birds, not abstract blobs or Picasso-esque experiments.
The course turned out to be on Domestika, titled Artistic Watercolor Techniques for Illustrating Birds by Sarah Stokes—a watercolour and charcoal artist based in the UK. I’ve since taken several of her courses, but that first one was the one that really hooked me.
According to Domestika, Sarah is a self-taught wildlife watercolourist. However, her own website (sarahstokesartist.co.uk) notes that she’s attended advanced art classes in both the UK and the U.S. This is probably a good time to admit to a bit of snobbery on my part. I’ve taken classes from self-taught artists who are brilliantly creative, and from classically trained artists with graduate degrees in fine art. While I appreciate both, I tend to prefer instructors who fall somewhere in the middle. Some self-taught artists, while exuberant and imaginative, struggle to clearly explain their process—or worse, pass on poor habits. I remember one instructor trying to teach wet-on-wet blending by saying, “Just keep adding more water and colour until it smooths out.” The result? A lot of blooming, unintended hue shifts, mud, and frustration. Still, even from those courses, I learned something—often what not to do, which is still valuable.
Sarah’s teaching style, on the other hand, struck the perfect balance. Like most Domestika courses (and yes, I’m a “Plus” member), the video content runs just over three hours. But if you’re working alongside it—and you should be, otherwise what’s the point?—it takes longer. The course is structured into five units with 18 lessons, covering tonal values, colour theory, sourcing reference material (including a helpful discussion on copyright), and, of course, sketching and painting birds.
It was during one of these theory lessons that I discovered an amusing cultural difference: the British like their coffee weak and their tea strong. Sarah described the desired strength of a paint mix as “coffee-like” when she meant “light.” As someone from Ontario who likes their coffee strong and dark, I initially got it completely backwards. I’ve since trained myself to mentally substitute “coffee” for “tea” when following her examples. Below, I’ve included my very first attempt at a monochromatic bird. I think I did okay!
While the course included some technical instruction, I would describe it more as a “follow-along” class—which, at that stage in my journey, was perfect. It was through Sarah that I finally understood that as long as your paper is still wet, you can continue to move colour around. Of course, knowing how wet is “wet enough” was a bit trickier—the camera didn’t always capture that nuance well.
In terms of supplies, I appreciated that the course materials were fairly accessible. Like most watercolour instructors, Sarah recommends good quality 100% cotton, cold-pressed paper, and decent synthetic brushes (the style tends to vary from artist to artist). Because this was a follow-along course, it did call for some specific colours—some of which I didn’t yet own. So, yes, I had to buy a few new half pans (I’ll save the pans vs. tubes debate for another blog), but I already had most of what I needed.
Sarah’s teaching felt personal and encouraging. She acknowledges how challenging watercolour can be, yet inspires you to keep going. I believe this was actually the first online art course I ever purchased, and I’ve been recommending both Domestika and Sarah’s courses to aspiring watercolourists ever since.
A Taylor'd Life 