The morning air was fresh as I sat on the porch chair overlooking the lake. I took a sip of coffee from either my second or third cup. A fresh pot was brewing. This is my studio for the week. Taking another sip, I noticed the package with three paintbrushes that have never left the package. Upon reading the store sticker, I remembered the day that I bought them. It was a rainy February afternoon in 2001. Earlier in the morning, I opened a brand new tube of paint. I’d purchased it in 1988. I dipped the tip of the new brush into the line of neutral gray before mixing it with cerulean blue and applying it to my painting.
Pouring a fresh cup of coffee, I thought about my morning discoveries. None of them really came as a surprise. I’ve always been respectful, protective, and frugal with my belongings. I’m certain that my Daddy had something to do with that. He was a tinkerer. Not for the hobby of it, but as a means to keep things working. We were a working class family, which doesn’t mean we didn’t have nice things. We just didn’t have an abundance of them. What we had, we took care of because disposable was not in our vocabulary. If I broke it or lost it, then I was simply without. I respect my upbringing.
Locking myself away for this inspired retreat has been engaging. Days are backed up to days of my own thoughts and creativity. Soul searching seems far too cliché, yet it defines the time away as good as anything that comes to mind. Though it took a few days for me to settle in, my temporary studio overlooking the lake has become quite an inspiring space.
Dipping the brush back into the mixed paint, I added another stroke. The figure in the painting is a life vibrant man preparing to pitch a horseshoe. He’s clearly respectful, protective, and frugal with his game. I’d be willing to bet that points were added to his team’s score after his toss. Daddy always did.