Today I am grateful for impatient cheapskate painting. Ever have one of those days? Yeah, me, too. I have a painting called “40 Shades of Green”, that I painted for Himself in 1979, long before we were married. We’ve dragged that thing around since. That’s 39 years, I did the math.
It’s lived in all of our houses, usually in whatever room Himself declared his man cave. For 13 years it lived in our basement at this house. Then when we were cleaning up after Christmas we realized we did have a wall for it and brought it upstairs. It looks better after all those years than we do, except the white texture trim line in the frame was stained and grimy looking, but it didn’t bother us so I left it alone. We all have a few scars, why should the painting be any different? I ignored it just like I do the dust on the furniture, the schmootz on the windows and the crumbs on the floor. Easy peezy.
Then a friend told me about an art contest at a retirement facility. “Yeah, I don’t really have anything,” I told her. She was just being nice and letting me know about it, which I appreciate. Then she said, “It is an Irish theme.” Oh crap! “My painting is probably too big,” I told my friend. “And I probably missed the deadline.” Negative Nellie!
Since this place is literally next door to the YMCA I go to five days a week, I decided to stop in and ask for the guidelines. Well guess what. It’s not too big. No size limit. And I stood right there and filled out the form because I had stopped in to check on it on the last day of the deadline. Kismet. So now all I had to do was spruce up that stained trim on the frame, which I thought was woven fabric.
I got out a bottle of bleach and a dead white sock that bit the dust the last time I threw it at the TV when the guy in the White House was pontificating with tiny words and a gargantuan ego. I soaked the sock in the bleach and gently dabbed at the fabric.
Except it wasn’t fabric. It was paper. And I was making papier machete. Swell. Now I had a bigger mess than I would have had if I had left it stained. I noticed a spot where the paper had loosened and stuck my fingernail under it. It peeled away perfectly. Until it didn’t. Like wallpaper that teases you into thinking it will slide off smoothly. Jokes on you, idiot!
After soaking, scraping, soaking, scrubbing, picking, soaking, scraping, sanding, scraping and sanding some more, I got all of the crap off. What now? I decided to think about it for a day. I call it giving it to my creative subconscious, not procrastinating.
I decided I wanted to paint it a brick red color, figuring Himself, who has 9,000 little bottles of paint, would have the color I wanted. He didn’t. They were all too bright, not deep enough, or the wrong color entirely. Or he had something close, but only drips left. I was not in the mood for running out half way through. So I had to mix paint. I don’t do things in a small way. I do them in a neurotic-I-don’t-want-to-run-out-of-paint-before-I’m-finished-way. So I had a ton left.
That’s where the cheapskate part of the gratitude comes in. I’m not throwing all of this paint out! I decided to spread it on a white canvass as a prep for another day. But I still had a bunch left! Grrrr! I had no choice but to knock out a painting. The impatient part comes in because I wanted to use the paint up fast, so I was loading it on thick and wet. You’re supposed to wait patiently for it to dry before using another color. Not happening. Not today. Slop-slop, slap-slap. Work out or don’t. Not my problem.
I rambled all over the creative map telling you how I got to be an impatient cheapskate and I’m okay with that. After all, l did produce the painting. And I don’t even hate it. That’s gotta count for something. Oh, and “40 Shades of Green” is in the car, ready to be delivered tomorrow. BING! Fast-Creative Heartprint!!!!