I am in no shape, form or fashion an artist, nor am I a painter. I don’t even try to pretend – I mastered the stick figure at age 5 and have not progressed much further. I might have drawn a house or something in a required art class but obviously that was not my forte. Now ask me to write a song and I’ll have something to you in an hour, and I’ll most likely be proud of it. Ask me to walk around the Frist or the Art Institute and discuss emotions and the history of paintings and sculptures and I am in 100%. Just don’t ask me to make art of my own – it has always ended in a premature ending or a small disaster.
However, I would like to make it known that at age 24, I have created art. Or something like it. Ash and I were antiquing in Franklin for her new place with the Hubs and we went into one of my favorites – Lulu. I instantly fell in love with a painting of a sweet little phrase, which later my boyfriend, Google, told me was an Irish proverb. The price tag read way too much for something I assumed I could attempt to create myself, so I snapped a quick photo while Ash created a diversion. Such rebels we are. OH brother, I know. So after a trip to hobby lobby and a quick stencil tutorial from the master, I was ready to begin creating my masterpiece. We turned on Mumford & Sons, set up camp in the big room and just went with it – I am certain I have not concentrated on something so hard for so long. To everyone’s amazement, I didn’t take any breaks. I didn’t start yelling four letter words when I almost misspelled the word “oftener” in stencil and paint. I stuck with it. I conquered that B of a canvas, and 3, ok 4, hours later…it was finished. FACT: I had more paint in my hair and on my legs than on the finished product. I was so proud.
Sure, it’s not perfect, but I love that about it. Imperfections make art approachable and lovable. Hell, imperfections make people approachable and lovable. Feel free to quote me on that.