Tonight I got a glimpse of something that used to happen all the time.
I used to paint quite a bit in college, with oils mostly. Before painting something I would envision the imagery that I would hope to translate onto canvas.
I would get my messy white bucket of oily tubes of paint out. And find whatever type of surface I could use at the time as a palette and start mixing. Mixing the colors was just as fun as painting sometimes.
I used to be able to see a color on something I wanted to paint in real life and be able to run through the spectrum of colors in my head and determine which ones in this messy white bucket could accomplish the color. Ask me now, I have no earthly idea.
It’s been so long since I’ve pulled out paintbrushes for something other than footprints or watercolors with Bubby. It’s an awesome trade, don’t get me wrong, but I do miss the unfortunate toxic aroma that oil painting fills the air with, and the smell of fresh gesso on a newly pulled canvas. And the way it feels to push paint around.
To create. To be still in that moment with the colors that can move an audience. Or help your heart like music.
I was thinking of Jenna on the way home and I have an idea of something I’d like to paint of grief. A picture of grief.
I don’t know what will come of it, or if I’ll even be brave enough to share it on here.
But just thinking about it, and getting the vision of something that could really be a painting again, it was refreshing.
I dream in color.
And I miss her with every breath I take.