The Day Art Came Home to Stay

It was in the third grade that my desire to create art was stifled. The class was in the midst of a hot and heavy spelling competition, and I was a good speller. The reward for missing a word was that you got to sit down at your desk and draw. When I misspelled a word on purpose in order to pursue my artistic designs, the teacher (who knew I was faking) chastised me and told me I should never, ever “cheat” in such a fashion.

If there was anything I couldn’t take, it was disapproval from my teachers. From that moment on, the pursuit of art went way down on my priority list - far below my other interests in language and by the intrinsic value of words. Excellence in writing, for which I had a natural aptitude, outweighed any desire to recreate the visual imagery in my head, and the study of literature and drama became my passion.

Despite my forsaking any thought of becoming an artist, all my life the story of art had formed me from the outside in. I observed with fascination the processes, the psychology and the worldly forces that formed its function and place in the development of civilization and society. I haunted museums and attended every event, gallery showing and craft fair I could. I bought beautiful reproductions of paintings that struck my fancy and spent lots of time and money having them framed and mounted to complement the subject. Our coffee table was festooned with large, colorful books containing paintings from my favorite artists - ranging from Van Gogh to Winslow Homer. Despite my appreciation and enthusiasm for other peoples’ work, I still had it in my head that I couldn’t draw.

After watching my behavior for 20 plus years of marriage, my husband surprised me one day with a gift that changed my life. His job had taken him to an office building hosting a book fair, where he discovered a clever painting tutorial kit and bought it for me as a gift.

As if I had been transported back in time to that third grade classroom, my misgivings fell away and I once again felt free to explore whether I did have the ability to translate my mental images to tangible objects of color and design.

Much to my astonishment, I began the process and discovered I had a knack. As my childhood self began to reemerge, I threw myself into every resource I could find, from art classes to workshops to U-tube tutorials. I worked in every medium I could lay my hands on, often creating “outside the box” pieces made from found items and using 3-D designs. Painting became an enduring and sometimes all-consuming pasttime and my husband bestowed on me the nickname of “Rembrandt.”

Freely creating without ego attachment was especially exhilarating. Having no expectations of myself at all, unlike with my other endeavors, was liberating and hugely enjoyable. I realized that in every other area of my life, which included singing, writing, working, and dance, involved a significant amount of self judgment and ingrained expectation.

Art, on the other hand, carried no such baggage. Everything was new and I discovered lots of “happy accidents” along the way. To this day, whether I work on a project quickly and loosely or carefully drawn and laid out, the process remains consistently meditative and calming in its effect.

During times of great struggle in my life, the escape of my artist’s studio (previously known as the guest room), has provided me with a place to go where nothing exists but me, the canvas and my paints. Time stands still and my mind is free from thought and worry.

Storms may rage around me, but my refuge is certain, due to the unexpected and most welcome gift I received all those years ago.

With thanks to my sweet husband🌼