The Art of the Matter

Never let it be said that the free spirit lives an unfettered life. Oh no. I myself believed that very lie this morning. How wrong I was.

In what I consider an endearing flight of fancy, my sister and I decided to paint in the garden. We gathered our materials, threw in a few pirouettes for good measure, set up easels in a whimsical, al fresco corner and set to it.

Well, let me tell you, it's harder than it looks.

I began exuberantly enough. I had a lovely image in mind--A fuschia sensuously stretched across a green expanse with Georgia O'Keefe-like grace, poetic and lazily bold. My thoughts danced between this internal canvas and a more concrete (though still delightfully simple) reality. "Oooh, Cerulean! I love Cerulean! But not as much as green! Phthalo Green...Wow! Look at all those consonants! Yippeee! (Yiphphthee?) Titanium White!! Whoa! Where can I put some Azo Yellow! Wait, that's not yellow! That's Cadmium Red! Ochre! Umber! Hooker's Green?!! Burnt Sienna, Raw Umber, Ultramarine! Alizarin Crimson! How do you pronounce THAT? Gazooks, this is almost as much fun as the Old Testament!"

So maybe I got a little carried away. Still, I thought, "Hey, it's art. Let the heart guide the hand."

Well, all I can say is, if that's what's in my heart I should be locked up.

I'm not sure just when my Phthalos started getting a little too cozy with my Alizarins, or when the line blurred between foliage and petal. It certainly didn't look this difficult at the Met. A dab here, a dab there. Bah!

Maybe it's like my sister said. We have too much experience looking at great art and too little creating it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to buy some crayons. More my level, you see. Red! Blue! Pink! Orange!