Who Knew? (that little kid is still inside me)

During my current state of not-trying, in which I seem to be making a lot of rebuilding progress, I’ve started dabbling again in my area of expertise.  No, I’m not talking about picking up dog poo or pulling weeds, I’m talking about throwing around paint, dreaming of colors, and occasionally drawing nekkid people.

The nekkid-people drawin’ took place a couple years ago, but I’m telling you, there is nothing like it to shake up your artistic sensibilities.  We all attribute meaning to people, and drawing them “as is” requires that we sketch only what we see–what is “out there”–as shapes and relationships and light (or the lack of it) and proportions.  It’s a classic exercise for any artist.  I found it to be, like any of my attempts at artiness, a type of meditation.  It is completely absorbing and literally makes you see things differently for hours afterward.  Everything becomes a scene on glass, translating form into flatness.  Weird.

But that was then, and this is now.  My favorite way to play with paint is on the floor.  Easels are for slackers.  (Well, not really–they have their uses–but I’m not a fan.  There is something about crawling around that engages my brain differently, and drips are almost nonexistent.)  Thank God I have a big basement floor and a door I can close.  I’ve been playing with Kraft paper for days, bit by bit, to create two things–rawhide (that can accept bleach in order to create a batik effect) and a slab of rock (all right, a cave wall) for another.  These are things I’ve been meaning to work on for years, so here we go!

And it feels weird.  Adults don’t do these things, right?  To which of my coworkers could I possibly confess this?!!  None, even though I may consider my closest friends, but not likely.  Not yet.  However, it also feels SO GOOD to mess with paint–the hours slip by in a time warp, just like they did with the nekkid-people thing.  I was (gee thanks Lady Gaga) born this way.  I drew and painted like crazy as a child, first wearing out my crayons (especially my favorites, Sky Blue and Orange Yellow), and progressing to staying up late, bumping around my room until way past midnight, frustrating my parents by spilling ink and smearing oil paint on the carpet.  Who knew that child was still inside of me and really needed to come out wielding the Crayolas again?

I did, sorta.  And this is the lesson:  We truly do come equipped with certain abilities and passions, and we must indulge them, or our lives are not complete.  It’s time to take a look inside my baggage and see what other forgotten items are packed there.

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~ by rebuildingholly on October 13, 2012.

2 Responses to “Who Knew? (that little kid is still inside me)”

  1. Do you have some of this art posted on your site somewhere?

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