I’ve always loved the sound that the curtain rod makes as the curtain is dragged across it. I’ve always loved the way that sun splatters across the apartment, like paint. It highlights the blank wall next to the hallway. Reds, blues and greens cover the surface of every other wall in intricate paintings, but the blank wall is a glossy white, untouched. I bite my lip as I tip toe toward it. Somehow, I’ve never been able to bring my brush to touch this perfect, clean wall. When I look at it, I see opportunity. But it’s all too apparent that the wall does not fit. And I walk to my brush, and I run it under cold water and return to the wall. Almost as though I’m fighting a repelling force, I push my wet brush to the wall. The bristles tickle the wall as I paint in water. For just a moment, my creation glimmers on the wall before disappearing. My wall is clean and white again. Before me, I see an opportunity that I can seize again and again. I see an easel that will absorb my illustrations and hide them away for me. Suddenly, my wall is not blank, but full of life and colors so numerous that I cannot count them all. And I take a step back and my brush itches to create. Suddenly, everything fits and is perfect and clean and full of opportunity.
The Art of [Blank]
January 10, 2011