Paint by Lferion

Paint

There were many, many things Feanor did well. Painting was not one of them. He could draw, draft, sketch an idea in ink, charcoal, chalk, stylus and wax or sand, diagram, model and describe in words all manner of things. He could write exquisitely with brush or pen or quill, but dip that same brush in watercolor or oil paint, and soon there would be a blobby smear, not an image; not even an interesting abstract. It defied reason or explanation, but Nerdanel and his sons had watched it happen all too often to be a fluke, or uncharacteristic carelessness.

Likewise, he could frame a wall, plaster it (flat and smooth or elaborately molded and carved), cover it smoothly in paper or cloth, carve paneling and set it seamlessly, but give him a bucket of milk-paint or whitewash and very soon there would be more of it on him than ever reached the wall. It was ridiculous and nonsensical and very, very annoying. Mostly he laughed about it, though he did take care that Indis and her children not witness the absurdity.

Oddly, when eventually he was Returned, he could paint both walls and pictures without any trouble at all.