The Joy of Painting

Over the holidays, I went to visit my grandma. Looking at the walls of her house, I saw some of the paintings I had done as a child. Now these weren't your ordinary paintings that kids might do with stick figures and hand prints that a grandmother would lovingly hold on to. When I was 9 years old, I used to oil paint. I was no Bob Ross, but looking over those paintings of elaborate winter scenery, I was amazed. Not only did a 9 year old paint those, but I was that 9 year old.

I remember hating having to go to painting class every Saturday morning. After all, Saturday mornings were prime cartoon watching time. But every Saturday morning I would go (because my mommy made me) to a crowded basement in some women's home with a dozen other kids and I would pull out my tubes of paint and stare at the colours. And I would fall in love.

I loved mixing paint colours together. I loved making up names for those colours. I loved the feel of brush to canvas. But most of all, I loved seeing a whole other world develop in front of my eyes. I wonder if that's how God or *insert spiritual deity of choice here* felt when he/she/it created the world?

God: Oh, I know, I'll call that Burnt Sienna. Damn, I'm good!

Family members all got a Nancy Kenny original that year for Christmas. To this day, they still hang in every single one of their homes. My elementary school even got one that used to hang in the teacher's lounge.

I don't remember why I stopped painting. My grandmother told me the woman who taught the class moved away.

In high school, Art was my favorite subject. I took the elective throughout all four years. I learned about art history. I was fascinated by surrealism (Dali and Magritte are still among some of my favorite painters), I loved the blasts of colours you found in Matisse and fauvism. I loved it all. I couldn't believe some of the lives all these painters had led. I attacked every assignment with gusto and I still have the finished products in my basement.

I have a drawer filled with every imaginable art supply: oil and dry pastels, charcoal, colored pencils, crayons, sketch pads, markers, craftables... you name it, I probably have it...

So why did I stop?

Well, as an actor, people often tell me things like "Oh, I used to act in school. It was a lot of fun, but I would never be able to pursue a career in it." They felt they could only do it as a hobby and you knew that they respected me for having the guts to try and make something of it.

I snubbed out my own passion the way they snubbed out theirs. Studying the life of these painters, you realized that it was a constant struggle. Most of them lived in absolute poverty and never got any recognition until they were dead. I think a part of me was very aware of that fact and was frightened by it.

While I don't "plan" on making any sort of career in the visual arts, I know that I definately want to get back into it. Besides, one of my resolutions this year is not to plan things so much. I just want to have fun with it. I've been browsing around the net for some sort of painting fundementals class to help me out. Unfortunately, my lack of funds is preventing me from signing up at the moment. Maybe I'll start with the supplies I have at home and see where that goes.