So I've been working on this painting that is going to hang in this coffee joint next week. My usual procrastinating self needs to feel the grind before I actually buckle down and start expressing my creativity.
But what happens when you live in a 1500 sq. foot home with seven other people? Six of them being little, mischievous and totally compulsive. The kitchen table becomes my studio. The kitchen table is the place where I can sit and paint and still keep an eye on the chil'rens and make sure they aren't becoming delinquents. I can't very well cut myself off from everyone and work in the garage, where Michael has his studio. Plus its hot as hell in there.
I'm beginning to realize the kitchen table isn't the ideal workstation.
I got up for about five minutes. To pee, sprinkle some water on my face and brush my teeth. Five minutes. Then I hear the pitter patter of fat stubby little feet. Xixi. 'Nuff said.
"Mama...I-I-I paint on your picture." Then she takes off running for her room, like she was fearing for her life or something.
My heart just sank. What is the likelihood that she uncovered my palette, grabbed my piece among the stack of papers and painted on it? Apparently, very likely.
Black paint. Right over the center of my piece. Three hours of work down the toilet. I didn't yell at Xixi. I didn't spank her. But I did feel pathetically sorry for myself. I even got a little teary-eyed.
This is why I can never paint. This is why I can never do anything I want to do. I am going to cook and clean and referee kids for the next ten years of my life. Woe is me...woe is meeeeeeeeee.
I talked to Michael so I could extend my pity party. Maybe if he felt sorry for me I could milk this for all it was worth. He felt really bad and apologized profusely. What he apologized for...I'm not sure. But it still felt good to know he felt bad. Gave me some consolation. I know, I am a horrible person. Then he reminded me of something.
"What is that saying you shared with the kids during our last workshop?"
Hmmmmm. In my mind I went over my many pearls of wisdom and couldn't remember what he meant.
"You said, 'There are no mistakes in art, just new opportunites for creative expression.'"
Wow. That was good.
So I took my own advice. I didn't scrap my piece. I buffed out the face and it has since taken on a new direction. But I can't show you yet because I'm not done. But it looks good. Me likes.
As I was ready to publish this, Xixi walked over my laptop and saw the picture of what she did. Her face got really serious and she said, "Uh-oh. I did that. I'm sowwwwwy, Mama. I yuv you!"