My Painting

I have a friend. My friend is an artist. I bought a painting that my friend painted. I now have my very own original painting.
It sounds simple doesn't it? But it's not. Yes, it's true, in 4 sentences I told you the entirety of this post. But, there's more. There's always more.

I have a friend:
I know, hard for some of you to believe. But, it's true. I have a friend. (actually there isn't much more to that one)

My friend is an artist:
I think, that at some other post, I have discussed my jealous feelings of artists. (I think I did, but I don't feel like going back and checking). I really am quite jealous of people that are artists. It's incredible what they can do. This particular friend is a painter, and unfortunately for me, and fortunately for her, I have a weakness for paintings. When I walk into an art gallery, I love just walking from room to room, just looking at all the beautiful paintings. Sometimes I like to go up really close to the paintings, and look carefully at the brush strokes. Sometimes I like to come up with a title for a painting, by what I see, and then I go look at the actual title, and see how close I was. Sometimes I like to stay far away from the painting, and then I look at it as if I've never seen a painting before. But every time I leave a gallery, I ask myself one of those awful hypothetical questions, "Out of all of the paintings that I just saw, if I had to choose one to stare at for the rest of my life, which would it be?" The answers always are varied and sometimes surprising. The truth, however, remains, namely that, I have a weakness for paintings. (Sculptures are another weakness, but thankfully, I have no friends who are aspiring sculptors.) Drawing is a skill that I would love to acquire. But it's not one that I see coming anytime soon. I was watching someone speak the other day and I was thinking about artists at the same time, and I had the overwhelming urge to pick up my pencil and draw this persons face. I didn't, because every time I try to sketch someone's face, the lines go funny. I can't make the lines the same size as the persons face. I can't make the texture right. I can't make the eyes look right. I can't make the proportions fit. I drive myself nuts, because, what I see, and what I'm desperately trying to produce, is not what's coming out on my paper. So, when I see someone pick up a pencil, and in a 10 minute break, sketch anything, I look at them, stare, and then get jealous. I think, someday, I'll take a class in drawing, so at least my stick people actually look like stick people.

I bought a painting that my friend painted:
I drove myself to her art show. (technically, it was a town art show, and anyone could join, but I only went to her booth) I've missed the last two of her shows, because I've been out of town. So when I found out about this one, I marked it in my calender, and reminded myself on a daily basis. It worked. I went to my friends art show and I was so proud of her. When I showed up, she was working the crowd, talking, laughing and acting generally happy. I took this opportunity to survey her paintings. They were good, I was stunned by the clarity of some, and by the cloudiness of others. I had to pull myself away from some of her paintings, because I had to look at her next painting. I looked at them and then looked back to her, all the while wondering how it was possible to do what she does. I came across the painting, halfway through the paintings, I caught my breath. My friend came up, hugged me and then said, "Hey, remember that painting that I did sometimes on our break? The one you liked. Well I finished it, and I still have it. Oh, you already found it." I nodded my head, knowing even then that it was over for me. I had loved this painting 16 months ago, and I still loved it now. I bought the painting. I spent a little more than I was planning, but I think it was worth every penny.

I now have my very own original painting:
When I left the art show, I was walking to the car when a couple passed me on their way to the show I had just left. I was holding the painting in one hand, picture facing forward towards the couple, when the lady started to look at the painting. She looked at it, and then suddenly, smiled. She told me that it was a beautiful painting and that I was lucky to have it. I smiled back, said thanks, and directed her to my friend's show. After I continued to move to the car, it dawned on me; this was my very own first original painting. I owned prints, of course. But this was my own, it was one of a kind, it was my painting. I reached the car, and laid the painting carefully down, so it would be all right during the 4 minute ride home. I still haven't gotten over that yet, I own a piece of artwork that is original and, on top of that, it's really pretty good. I'm not sure what I'll ever do with the painting. It doesn't match anything of mine. The painting is yellow, a little bit of pink, with black, so it obviously doesn't fit my room. It's sitting on the floor, propped up against my mirror. It's the first thing I see when I get out of bed every morning, and I see it every time I open my bedroom door. But it doesn't match anything. I knew it wouldn't when I bought it, and yet, I still bought it. (Surprising for me since everything I own matches) I keep trying it out mentally in the other rooms of the house, but it won't fit in any of those either. So right now, I'm stuck. I'm stuck with a beautiful painting that has nowhere to go. I'm okay with that, though, because no matter how badly it clashes with everything else, it's still my painting. That makes a lot of things okay.