The Lusciousness of Paint...OR...The Wisdom of a 4-year-old

When I first started Art School back in 19-what-was-it...(1994 to be precise) I was certain I was a PAINTER. I started making art with pencil, pen and ink as a young teen and progressed into oil paints, spending many many nights awake until 3 and 4 am working with the colors and layering paint, loving the lusciousness and beauty that was so pure in the wet pigment. Fast-forward to 2015, and I have not painted in years! I work almost entirely digitally now, and while I love it, I found myself staring down an assignment for my class with trepidation: we were told to create a scenic painting on a round-ish piece of wood.

Say what??

I had to actually buy brushes - that is how long it's been. So off I went to Michael's and found a piece of wood that had beautiful bark around the border, and seemed it would fit the piece I was planning to make. I bought a "practice" piece of wood, too. When I got them home, my son (4) was immediately interested. He wanted the big piece of wood, but we compromised and I gave him the practice piece, and busted out some paint. He was off and running, painting all different colors on the wood and enjoying himself thoroughly. As I watched him, and realized I had a pit in my stomach worrying about whether I could achieve a submission-worthy painting on my piece of wood, I realized I was losing access to the wonder of creation by allowing the worry to win. I set the worry on the shelf, got my paints out, and I am *so glad* I did. Now I've got several more paintings in mind, and I've realized that cutting painting (or any analog art creation) out of the process in exchange for expediency really cheats ME, and it cheats the process. I've now got a plan to do a line of Kitchen Little original paintings. Veggies in pigment!

That said, I am sharing my final piece with you. Here's to children, knocking down our hangups one day at a time...