Some days it’s hard to be an adult. There are so many commitments, tasks, work and projects that need to be done that it’s overwhelming. Daily life becomes crossing off each item on the list, a goal that feels good when it’s accomplished, but there’s always another to-do list waiting for you the next day.
Yesterday, Cam and I finally talked my mother into painting. Three months ago, she’d expressed a wish to paint again, and the three of us took a fun trip to the art supply store in downtown Charleston for canvas, paint, brushes and knives. We placed the sleek tubes of oil paint next to her easel and set a canvas upon it. There they waited. And waited.
Cam and I decided to take the initiative and talk her into painting with us. We set up two easels and a drafting table, and the three of us spent 2 1/2 hours throwing paint on canvases. Once she was sitting down with everything in front of her, my mom took up her knife and went to town painting from a photo I’d taken in Alaska.
As we were cleaning and organizing her studio over the weekend, I found some drawings I’d created as a very small child. My mother had used them as stencils to make pillows for me, and I’d loved them so much I’d decorated my college bedroom with them.
While my mother and son chose gorgeous mountain landscapes to paint, I decided to channel my inner child and see if I could once again become that creative soul I once was. Even back then, all I thought about were horses. I have pages and pages of similar drawings, some becoming more realistic as I aged, but always done with creative colors and free flowing strokes of the pen and crayon.
How did I do all these years later? It’s definitely a work in progress. I used to love to paint and draw, but I haven’t picked up a brush in decades. As I sketched out the horse on the canvas, I tried to let my mind go and allow my hand to take the wheel without thinking too much. The colors I chose to start with will likely change slightly during my next session, but I’m pleased with the start. I see some similarities to my younger years, but I still need to focus less and play more.
As the afternoon sun drifted behind the trees and our sunlit room dimmed, we all three paused to check each other’s work. We agreed it was a great way to spend time together, and the hours passed by way too quickly. What was most rewarding was my mother’s enjoyment and excitement at creating again, and she laughed and smiled brightly at her paint-covered hands as we took photos to commemorate the day. We may never have our work hanging for others to see, but these paintings will remind us of special time spent together.