My recent visit to an art gallery where I chatted with the
resident artist made a definite impression on me. She suggested art as a form of therapy. I liked that option, perhaps because I've
seen way too many movies and TV shows where the shrink is a complete
psycho. Also, painting is cheaper.
Close to home, I found this wonderful place – Fresh Paint. It is a painting studio and also a
café. The proprietor, Roxanne, is a
charming lady, and an extremely talented artist.
Things got off to a messy start before I even sat down before my
canvas. I had a tendency to press the
pumps on the paint containers too hard.
By the time my palette was full, I had Jackson Pollocked all my
clothing.
I chose an easel by the window, facing the street. Why not let a bunch of strangers walking by
outside stare over my shoulders at a physical manifestation of my twisted
thoughts?
I am not known for making the best choices in colour. My laundry room looks okay at night, but in
natural light, the colour is something only a Smurf would love. And I have a guest bedroom that is such a
shade of green; it practically glows in the dark. "Cappuccino" sounded like a nice relaxing shade of brown
for my sitting room – yep, the walls look pretty much like what you'd guess
they look like. At least all the
ceilings look good. Even I cannot get
into too much trouble with white. (But have
you ever noticed how many shades of white are available?)
It took forever for me to actually touch the canvas with the
brush. But once you get going, it's
fun. I get to make a mess, nobody's
grading me on it, someone else cleans up after me, and just steps away, there
are cookies. I highly recommend visiting this place.
I think I did pretty well at this new experience, considering
that the right side of my brain is generally never called upon. (Every time I've tried to come up with a really convincing lie, it has failed me
completely.) Its main job seems to be just preventing
that side of my head from caving in.
When I was finally done swirling various blobs of paint around,
mixing colours as though I had even the faintest clue what I was doing, Roxanne
used a sophisticated technique for drying my magnum opus (hair dryer). She then placed it in a large brown, paper
bag, concealing it in the much the same fashion that winos on the street hide
their bottles. I was grateful.
No, you don't get to see what I painted – that's way too
personal. This was just for therapy and
stress relief. Plus I have a feeling
that if I showed it to an actual therapist, it might get me locked up.
One Thing That >50 Me Has Learned Along the Way...
Sydney Smith once said (sorry - I have no idea who Sydney Smith
is, but I'm sure Google does), "It is the greatest of all mistakes to do
nothing because you can only do a little.
Do what you can." This made
perfect sense to me the second I first read it, and I have tried to follow it
as inspiration. Then I discovered as a
single homeowner that there was no choice but to apply it. After getting home from a long day at the
office, there is often no way to complete a large task in one evening – it has
to be broken up into sub-tasks, and then hopefully it's done by the
weekend. If the only way that you can
paint a room is one wall at a time, then that's what you do. Making a job manageable by slicing it up into
pieces makes it far more likely that you will start that job, and that you will
eventually complete it.
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