I Painted A Lamp

Note that this is not a DIY.  People looking for cool pictures of some rad new paint design for lamps and possibly extendable to Salvation Army vases, please click away now.  You'll save us both some heartache and disappointment.  

No, this is me reminiscing and thinking about my crazy, carazay choices.  Like the time I was ten and I finally had some real canvas to paint on, along with some honest-to-goodness, in-the-tube, acrylics.  Oh my gosh.  I was finally a real artist.  Sure, I had been making soap for years, not to mention my potholder loom weaving, my bead looming, my velvet embossing, chocolate modeling, charcoal drawing, crocheting and other assorted and sundry artsy endeavors.  But none of those were art.  You couldn't hang any of those on the wall when you were done.  But this, a real canvas. with real paint, I could do anything; I could finally be an artist.

I had so many options, it was almost paralyzing.  I wanted to just throw some paint on the canvas and move on to the second one, because for some reason, the first one always holds so much pressure.  Same reason I skip the first page in journals.  Way to much pressure.  People save their "first"s.  "This is the first masterpiece she ever did." people would say, years from now.  But what would it be of?  I lived in the country, there were beautiful landscapes wherever I looked.  There were flowing plants and livestock and familiar faces.  Heck, there was fruit.  All real artists paint fruit at sometime in their careers.  I could have painted fruit.

But not.  Me, my little introverted, weird and nerdy self, sat in my room with the overhead lighting, at night, and painted my lamp.  While it was on.  I just painted it.  Because I wanted to see if I could, I imagine.  Even then, I was more concerned with honing my skill and doing it right than I was with creating something beautiful. I had to do it "right".  

Now make the base Hunter Green.
And the shade white.
And no gold anywhere.
There you go,  you've got it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I enjoyed myself.  Even now, I enjoy honing my skills.  Being competent in many areas makes me feel powerful and proud, strong and, well, competent.  Like I could live in any era, in any place, and survive, even possibly succeed.  But I know that I chose that lamp because it was constant and simple yet difficult, and I would be able to evaluate at the end if I had done it correctly, if I had accomplished my task to my satisfaction.  I'm such a weirdo.

This all came up again, now some 15 years later, because my niece just turned 10.  She keeps an Amazon wishlist, and I check it when gifting time comes around so that I can see what she's currently into, since we're 600 miles apart.  Paint was on it.  She wasn't even asking for the real stuff, just some paint because this girl has the creative bug and she can't not make things.  I know the feeling.  But I remember, being about that age (which is the one sentence that will surefire make you feel 100 years old, p.s.) and wanting so bad to be able to make real art.

So I sent her the tools.  Real, in-the-tube acrylics.  Canvases.  Brushes.  Even a little paint swirly pad with the spot for your thumb, so that you can feel like an artist while you're doing, even if all you're doing is thinking about how pretty the colors look when they're mixed.  And suddenly I'm 12 again, and I can't believe that the only thing I remember painting was that lamp.  I know it didn't meet my hopes, my goals for the evening.  I couldn't get the light right and I couldn't make it perfectly symmetric.  I have no idea where that painting is now.

And while the 12 year old inside of me is reminding me of all of these things and feelings, the current me is having feelings too.  I wish I could tell myself this:

"You, sweet girl with the awkwardly large feet, you are already an artist.  You don't have to do anything 'right'.  Paint what makes you happy.  Paint the word 'happy' if you want.  Don't hold yourself to such pressure, just enjoy it.  And if you don't like what you do the first time, know this - although you already are an artist, if you want to be proud of your craft, you must practice and put in time.  Art both 'just happens' and requires practice and hard work.  But for the love, paint something other than that stupid lamp.  Its a terribly ugly shade of green.  And no one is looking at your feet."

I sent my niece the paints, along with the request that she paint a painting for us, so we'll have something to hang on our wall when we move.  I hope its of something that she loves, I hope that she enjoys the process, and I hope that she keeps doing it, so that she can see her talent being harnessed.  And I hope that the painting isn't of a lamp.