Oh I know what you're thinking. You think I want a young stud with a washboard stomach to run around scantily clad fanning me with palm fronds, bringing me iced tea and slathering SPF40,000 sun protection lotion on my creamy white skin.
Nope. I need a cabana boy to firmly but gently take the paintbrush out of my hand when a canvas is done. And to firmly but gently stand shaking his head in front of the painting hanging in the same room that seems to be shouting at me: just add a little bit of color
right here in my middle -- when that painting has been done for months.
So maybe what I actually needed this past weekend was one of those big burly men in white from the basket weaving factory who discreetly carries a telescoping butterfly net around in his jacket pocket.
What would prompt this sudden realization? Well, I recently had what we'll delicately call a creative moment. Long story short, this past Sunday I finally sealed a canvas I painted over the winter. Then about an hour after I hung it back up over my sofa, I had an urge to paint something new.
I painted a new canvas and ended up with something I love. It's really vibrant and has a lot of movement. I stood and admired it for a while and then sat it off to the side to dry. I found myself deep in creative thought, standing there looking from the freshly painted canvas to the one hanging over my sofa. Back and forth, one canvas to the other ….. and like a sleepwalker….. I saw myself freakin take the freshly sealed canvas off the wall and start messing with it. Well, messing is the right word because I ruined it. And I mean really ruined it. Thankfully, since I was working with acrylic paint, I had the idea of taking it into the bathtub and seeing if what I had added would wash off the sealed canvas. Well, miracles of miracles, it did, and against all odds I dried it and then when I [maybe somewhat inadvisably under the circumstances] added some blue to the finished work, I was really pleased with the result.
I now have two paintings I love hanging in my living room.
But it was a near thing.
The next time I have an urge to paint I'm hiring a cabana boy. Or a robot. One of those with a timer and some sort of sensor that can tell when you've temporarily jumped your rails and need to be led by the hand to a place where you can have a nice quiet lie down. Oh and since Windstorm isn't sealed yet, when I get ready to do that, maybe I'll hire a robot with a laser and a countdown sequence that makes me evacuate the room or be fried after 15 minutes so I won't be tempted to go outside the scope of sealing it. But I still think I'd want one who'll bring me iced tea afterwards. But we'll skip the lotion; those robots have really cold hands.
Windstorm copyright Karen Schindler 2010