I Get to Paint
Throughout my life, I have taken many painting classes. Watercolors, acrylic, oil painting and gouache were among them. While in college at Maryland Institute College of Art, I took an oil painting class. I lived outside the city in a small town called Genn Burnie, Md. I took the city bus to get to and from school. Doing painting homework at home each week was fine. I say fine, because I was painting still lives for class. Nothing about this class was thrilling to me. On the day of painting class, I would get on the busy rush hour bus with a wet painting and wet palette full of paint and stand directly behind the bus driver so passengers wouldn’t bump into me and get wet paint on themselves. But also, I didn’t want my homework to get messed up. That was my first oil painting class.
I recall one such painting that I mostly finished. At this time, I had 2 brothers and a mom, all of which were interested in art. Our tradition was that at Christmas, each child would give what we considered our best artwork to our mom as a Christmas gift. That year, I gave my mom that painting of the still life. She said thanks, but it’s not your best. I agreed and knew exactly what she was saying. It had no passion in it. Paintings don’t lie and neither did mom. You might think that was rude of her or ungracious. But I appreciated that she was always honest about my artwork. I didn’t care for her reply, but neither could I disagree.
Years later, after living through the deepest darkest period of my life, one of my brothers suggested we take an oil painting class together. I said yes. The class was 45 highway miles from my house, plus it was expensive, so, it took some consideration. I figured it was just another art class. I had run out of options in my life and had just been fired from my job at art instructor at an artist coop. I had no great expectations about this class. But unexpectedly, saying yes, changed my life.
During the first class, I fell in love with oil painting. Mixing that paint with a palette knife, that buttery texture of the paint, applying it to a canvas with the knife or brush, just all of it, was such a delight. I had unknowingly stepped into a gift! There was something about the paint that made me enjoy the mark making. I think it was right there and then that I chose to paint with paint that looked like this painting was painted with paint. I was having fun, so much fun that I knew this was fun down to the core of my being. It was a gift. I was crying literal tears and telling God thank you. I didn’t know why or how painting could be of value to anyone, or to God. But somehow it was and I felt God saying I am so glad you are happy and Iet’s paint together. That is where my dance with painting and God began. It is still what happens in my studio; I get to paint and invite God to join me. I am so glad I get to paint.