Leaning down and grabbing his wrist in the middle of a brush stroke, catching him before he continued to make worse of a mess, Mabelle shook her head. "You're really not good at this," she told him truthfully, firmly guiding his hand again with smoother, more precise strokes. Her eyes kept darting between the canvas and the objects in front of them. Although she could see from his viewpoint better from atop the chair, she had to kneel down quite a bit in order to hold his hand properly. There really was no comfortable way to do this, unless she had him sit on a stool in front of the easel. She'd have to remember that for next time.
He kept laying the paint on a lot thicker than she preferred, and it somewhat pained her to see so much essentially going to waste. Spreading out the paint already on the canvas more evenly, she used the mixing of the colours to create the shadows on the forms, using the darker paint to really define the edges. "You have to keep looking at what you're painting. Pay attention to the space in between things, and where the light hits."
Stomach grumbling and suddenly feeling light headed, not sure if it was the hunger or exhaustion, Mabelle gripped at Michel's wrist tighter before releasing it completely. "There's plenty of theories and methods," she agreed while stepping down from the chair, "but I have to teach you something, and I can't teach you a way I don't know."