So, if I haven't mentioned it before, my sisters and I are like three crazy little peas in a pod. We have the same laugh. We have the same nose. We have the same uncanny knack for making the world's cheesiest jokes, ever. We also happen to have an innate ability to know what each other needs, at any given point, always, and usually delivered with chocolate. So I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise when my middle sister (I'm the youngest) just happened to give me a reiki session for my 22nd birthday, which was exactly one of the things I had put on my 23 things life list, before she ever even knew said list existed. So it also follows that I shouldn't have been surprised when the same sister bought vouchers for the two of us to take an intuitive painting class together for my 23rd birthday, also one of the things I put on my 24 things life list, again, long before she ever knew said list existed.
Like I said, peas in a pod.
Sisters. I'm in the laundry basket. We don't look like this anymore, in case you were wondering, though I do still have an affinity for hiding in laundry baskets, obviously.
I was equal parts super-excited for this painting class and equal parts terrified out of my mind that I'd end up drawing stick people and having to excuse myself to go wash the fingerpaints off of my hands while pretending that I totally meant to do that all along, you guys. I fancy myself a creative type, good at crafts & art-y projects, but I've never been good at drawing. And so, I got the silly little notion in my head that just because I wasn't good at something meant that I couldn't do it anyways. Pssh.
Painting. And laughing. Our new friends in the class brought wine and fudge, with had absolutely nothing to do with why we all got along so well, clearly.
Here is what I learned about intuitive painting, and also life, because poignant things sneak up on you like that. First, you pick whichever colors speak the most to you, and you trust your gut, because your gut knows what's up. Also, purple makes everything better. Next, you splatter things everywhere and make a big mess and watch what happens. Following that, you paint. You do whatever feels right and you let that paintbrush go forward with abandon even if you have zero clue what you're doing. It's okay if you add some brown and decide you hate it-- because there's nothing you can do to change it now, baby. Add some purple (makes everything better) and white, and then sit back and marvel in your lovely creation. Even if it became something entirely different than what you set out to make, you should be pretty proud of yourself and pretty in awe of how cool it turned out in the end anyways.
My masterpiece. I love it. I also learned that if you flip it on its side, it looks like a kangaroo.
Long story short: painting is great, and fun, and relaxing, and it doesn't matter that you haven't put brush to paper since elementary school, it doesn't matter that you can't draw a still life worth a sideways kangaroo, because you may end up being a quite talented if-you-do-say-so-yourself swirly-thing painter. Thanks, sister, for always knowing what I need before I need it, and helping me jump outside my comfort zone. I like it better here. There's more purple. And chocolate.
I think she's probably the one who put me in that laundry basket in the first place.
Psssst! Milwaukeeans! If you're looking for an awesome new experience in the arty world with super-great people, I highly recommend you check out Studio 915. They have nothing to do with me writing this post, I just had such a great time that I had to share with all of you. Go support your awesome, arty local businesses!