Seeing the tubes and bottles of paint brought a smile to my face.
I was packing a bag to take to a friend’s house for the day, and among the things I was bringing were the paints, a jar filled with brushes of all sizes, and a couple of fresh white canvases. Sarah, an artist far more accomplished than I, had invited me to paint with her in her studio for the day. I had been anticipating the date for weeks.
A few years back, Sarah and I had taken watercolor lessons together from an artist in our church. Every week we learned techniques and developed preferences for moving pigment around canvas with water and brushes. When our teacher Peggy had told me I had talent, I believed her. “You need to paint every day,” she told me, when I asked her how I could get better. I was determined to do it.
But from the beginning, it was a habit that never developed. I was working every day, writing every day, reading every day, and a host of other every day activities. Painting didn’t fit somehow. And when I painted, even if I did it every week, I didn’t really improve.
:: CONTINUED ::
Today I am writing over at TweetSpeak Poetry. I’d love for you to join me there by clicking on the link above.
Photo by Marcela Paolantonio, via Flickr, used with permission under the Creative Commons License.