Dawn the Artist?
It’s been years since I picked up a brush. I found myself singing and bopping as I mushed paint around the canvas.
I was completely and happily surprised at how good it felt. Something that was once second nature has become a treat. Or I could even call it a retreat.
Art lessons all those years ago- first in the basement of a retired artist- I was by far the youngest in the room. Copying designs off greeting cards and learning how to create flesh tones from the basic watercolors on my palette.
How serious I must have appeared about painting. Working with supplies meant for college students at age ten, squeezing the metal brushes close to its hair for better control. The instructor must have thought it was adorable.
Later when I was in school doing a double major in Studio Art AND English the compromise to keep my parents happy. Hours were spent in the studio- long after my fellow students were playing beer pong and video games, I painted and repainted.
Often I took the work home with me, supplies covering the kitchen table I shared with my roommate Alexa. She tolerated it to an extent but would usually be dragging me out the door to go dancing.
Wednesday nights, our favorite dance night at the Daily Planet, I enrolled in an oil painting class- with conditions. Before I left the apartment I was to pack a bag with clothes and makeup. I’d paint my heart out until the last possible minute- studio lights shutting off behind me and leave campus. Driving the two minutes to our apartment complex, I'd pull up to the back door of the building, honk the horn and climb into the passenger seat. Lex would hop in, already dressed to the nines, and drive my car North of the boarder as I changed, lipsticked, and sometimes even painted my nails on the way to Canada (where the legal drinking age is 19.)
I made Art fit into my life as naturally as it had when as a little girl. I remember sitting for hours quietly drawing at my grandmother’s dining room table. I’m not sure when I gave up on the idea of it all.
Travel and writing filled the places canvases used to occupy in my heart. Instead I painted with words and drew portraits with my camera.
Last week I spent a few bucks on some shitty brushes, a cheap Chinese canvas and some student acrylic.
At that point the motivation was purely cost driven. Original artwork in
costs a small fortune. Australia
The result: My little abstract piece brightens me up as much as the room it hangs in.