Colors can’t be seen where there is no light. The shape of an image on canvas cannot be detected by touch. An artist who paints and whose paintings remain in darkness is unsure of what she paints. Her judgment is inhibited by the absence of exposure. She is aware that illumination is necessary in development and critique of her work as well as in the enjoyment and display of the finished piece. As she dabs at the invisible screen in in the darkness, she struggles to appreciate the depth of beauty she hopes is there. She paints because she must. And she remembers.
That day was particularly sunny. My eyes focused on the glaring sheath of butcher painter tacked on the wall in front of me. My sheath. I knew what would fill it. As a six year old among 100 other excited, talkative young artists lined up along the fence, my mind was quietly fixed on what I had come to do. It was a fence painting contest and what I was about to paint was going to take first place.
I had it all planned out. The princess with her crown. Her golden hair. The flowers around her. And the bright sun shining down on everything. I couldn’t wait to get started. A woman handed me a paintbrush and half an egg carton. Each compartment held a different color. I dipped my brush in and raised it confidently to make the first sure swipe at the paper, not noticing the hesitation in my fellow artists.
A girl next to me leaned over and whispered, “I don’t know what to paint. What’s yours gonna be?”
“It’s gonna be a princess and some flowers and a sun,” I stated, not really looking at her.
“What color is her hair gonna be?”
“Yellow,” I answered, dipping my brush in the chosen color.
“That’s what I’m gonna do too!” And with that she dipped her brush in yellow and watching my hand, began to sloppily duplicate my picture in a distorted, out of scale kind of way. I was stunned. Of all the kids here, why did she choose me to copy? Forcing my eyes to my own page, I focused on my work, ignoring the miniature version of my art that was assaulting the page next to me.
My princess emerged smiling and all was well. Soon, the sun was shining again and the flowers bloomed at her feet. Satisfied with my efforts, I cleaned my brush and turned to survey the competition.
As I looked up and down the fence, I was startled to see the wall awash with blonde princesses in a sea of sunbeams and flowers. Did no one have inspiration of their own? How did my project become the work to copy? I was certain it was not better than any of the others. But it was one thing that they were not. It was authentic. An original. As I was called to the front to be recognized, my thoughts were bittersweet and wondering. The announcer laughed as he commented on the similarity of so many of the entries. I felt the others eyes on my back as I shook the man’s hand. Why had I won and they had not? I blushed and hung my head.
There were two things I carried away with me that day: a first place ribbon, and a keen sense of being watched.
to be continued...
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