My arrival at the airport departure lounge with a large blank canvas and a box of paints under my arm produced a fair share of friendly smiles and even the odd comment. "What's it supposed to be? 'White Cat in a Snow Storm'?" said one fellow passenger, nodding towards my new stretcher. "No," I announced, "I'm planning something far more colourful. I'm off to the green heart of Italy to tackle a grand landscape in acrylics." A tad pretentious I know, but what the heck? It was the truth. I had signed up for an art course with a company called Painting in Umbria.
I have pretended to be an artist before. As a university student I switched from a science to a visual-art degree - a move motivated by a better class of party and the chance to lie in late, snoozing like a surrealist. Student heaven, except that I was heading for a double first in "Bohemian Lifestyle Studies" without a clue about the practical side of the subject. Pencils and paintbrushes were mere props, and messy old oils a distraction from the serious business of posing as a moody young artist. Which is why, even after three years of art training, I found the idea of painting a landscape completely alien. Judging by the recent crop of Turner Prize entrants, I'm not alone.
Reading through the impressive Painting in Umbria literature on the plane was very worrying for a pseudo-artist like myself. The list of excursions looked promising, with trips to places such as Assisi, where the life of St Francis is portrayed by Giotto, and Arezzo in Tuscany, home to Piero della Francesca's finest creations.
The idea was to get us to draw inspiration from the artists of 15th-century Italy "and to spend a part of each day with their art". Good intention, but it did raise the artistic stakes somewhat.
Then there were the tutors' biographies, illustrated by terrifyingly good examples of their work. Meeting the first of the tutors, Alan Robb, over the remains of a meal and a glass of wine, calmed me a little. He was a hearty fellow, more laid-back than his paintings, and enthusiastic about all sorts of endeavours, including the success of the course. "We are here to enjoy painting and great painters, not to act as some glorified group therapy session," he confided over a second glass.
He chatted about falling in love with Umbria as a hitchhiking student, Brazilian black magic and about the time he'd invited Pink Floyd for a smoke at his parents' council house in Dundee. It was all reassuring stuff that reminded me of party conversations at art college, except here the weather was kinder, the architecture inspiring and the wine drinkable.
The next morning I joined the rest of the group for a spot of observational sketching around a barn plonked on the hill overlooking the hotel. The main tutor for the holiday, the dapper John Booth, trotted around from easel to sketch-pad giving gentle advice on chiaroscuro here and warm praise for composition there.
His 22 years as drawing master and head of art at Eton College gave him a quiet authority and the experience to get the best from his mixed group. He encouraged us all to look more carefully at the landscape before us - and what a landscape! Vivid green pastures dotted with ancient olive bushes and parades of cypress trees, all set against the rolling smoke-blue hills of Umbria.
For a beginner like myself it was all just too big. The more I looked, the more daunting the idea of capturing the scene with a few daubs of paint became. No wonder they don't teach landscape painting in art colleges these days: it's too bloody hard. By the time I'd messed around adjusting my easel and struggled with a few colourless pencil marks, the sun was too high in the sky, the light too harsh and it was time for lunch I hid my virginal white canvas and over the first of many alfresco meals was introduced to my fellow would-be artists.
My fears were unfounded. There were no scathing critics or over-zealous painters, just a group of friendly amateurs enjoying the opportunity to share a common interest in a beautiful part of the world. After a long lunch we piled into a minibus and went to see a fine collection of Perugino's paintings in his home town of Perugia. Having never heard of him or visited the town before I found it all a pleasant surprise. "Not bad for a day's work as an artist," I thought to myself as I turned in that night for a grappa-induced sleep. "Really must get down to some painting soon, though." It was like art college all over again.
Fired up by the collective enthusiasm of the group and, more importantly, the deadline of an end-of-holiday exhibition, I had to find something manageable to paint. Inspiration came in the form of the real star of the holiday, the hotel itself.
Villa San Donino is an 18th-century cardinal's summer retreat, lying just a few miles from the medieval town of Città di Castello. For a novice painter it was the perfect model. It kept still, the Italianate forms were familiar, and the swimming pool was nearby.
I set myself up on the football pitch just beyond the pool and became lost in the process of slapping around colours in the sunshine, surfacing again only when a stray football hit my easel. John Booth kindly helped me with my choice of brushes (in fact he lent me two of his after seeing my WH Smith collection) and passed on a few tips. He suggested I paint the sky in upside down to avoid a slavish line, and I also learnt why Hockney homed in on swimming pools. Basically a lot of blue, a few squiggly lines, the odd splash and, hey presto, you've painted a convincing contemporary scene.
So was the painting holiday package worth the price tag? Well, it would be a lot cheaper to simply pitch up in Italy and pursue your own painting agenda, but there would be so many subtle treats you'd miss: the art outings with experts on hand to point out gems, the friendly tips and quiet encouragement of the tutors and, most importantly, the collective enthusiasm of the group.
Having all your meals together sometimes felt like a wedding party that had gone on too long, although the running arty banter and general bonhomie usually made up for the lack of private dining and, of course, for us solo artists it was great to pretend we were part of some new artistic clique.
The most important thing that came out of the experience was a new way of seeing. The whole holiday reminded me of a pair of orange-tinted sunglasses that I picked up at a paragliding convention. When you whip them on, the world looks a better place, the colours brighter, shadows deeper; trees glow and people look healthier. By looking intensely to produce a painting I seemed to gain something much more enduring than a holiday photograph. A clearer, richer vision of Italy.
And where is the fruit of my painting course? After being praised at the end-of-course exhibition - where, let's face it, the bubbly was flowing and even the simplest of scribbles won accolades - I showed my effort to the hotel staff. "Bellissimo, bellissimo!" they exclaimed, like the chorus from a comic opera.
Heartily encouraged, I followed the tradition of penniless artists everywhere and offered my painting in exchange for my drinks bill. Silence and puzzlement from the hotel staff. Praise was obviously cheap whereas my drinks bill was not. So I settled my bill with boring old euros and left the picture anyway. It wasn't a grand landscape painting of the green heart of Italy, but it was a start, and I hope it will beckon me back for more slapping around colours in the Umbrian sunshine.
Painting in Umbria is running week-long courses this year from June 4 until September 17 at a cost of £899 per week excluding flights but including transfers, full board at Villa San Donino and several dinners at traditional Umbrian and Tuscan restaurants during the week. There are two programmes of activities to choose from and non-painting partners are welcome. For further information, telephone 0800 458 9044 or 01580 240022, or see www.paintinginitaly.com.