Another waiting room, this one for an art class, at which I am bad. Sad.
Yes, I know. Everyone's an artist. Each of us bears the mark of a distant Van Gogh or a recent Georgia O'Keeffe, however faint, however tiny.
But all 'umility aside, art is something as which I suck. And it doesn't matter what kind: acrylic, oil, water colour, pastel, pencil, crayon, stick. I'm bad at them all. In fact, if you asked me -- and even if you didn't -- I can't draw so much as the shape of an orange.
Once, years ago, someone showed me how to draw a lion using only hearts. If I could illustrate anything, I would show you here. Instead, I shall describe:
You draw a big heart for the head/face, two smaller hearts for the eyes, two more for the ears, one for the mouth -- are you with me? -- one medium upside down one for the nose, one large upside down one for the body, and two smaller upside down ones for the feet. Then, if you want, you can stick on a tail -- straight up and down with some fringe on the end.
This art class has themes, and today's theme is courage -- which is funny when you think about it, because of the cowardly lion and c...c...c...courage. (We've been here before--remember?)
Somehow -- no, I ought to say for various reasons -- I don't think a heart-shaped lion will do. I am afraid they will point at it and laugh. "A heart-shaped lion?" they'll say. ""Who does that?" And someone will shout, "A three-year-old, that's who!!"
Last week in art class, I was accused, in a pleasantly suggestive way, of false 'umility when I created a plasticine braid of DNA and stuck it to some cardboard. (Cam' on! Who couldn't do that?) As it was, the braid kept splitting (that's DNA for you) and crumbling (genetic overtones abound), and the coloured bands that I was trying to roll out with my fingers kept sticking to my hands. Wait. I mean 'ands. The thing was a mess, and frankly, my half-whispered apology was warranted.
And that's where false 'umility comes in.
It might have been all the childhood beatings or the dozen families I grew up with, or the hypercritical father I had or the mocking stepmother, or even all of the drunks.
Any of those things might stop someone in her artistic tracks and render her creatively challenged. And even if they didn't -- even if it didn't -- it sometimes takes courage to say that a thing (in this case, a lime green DNA braid) has gone wrong and thank you for your positive comments but you can see why I'm laughing sort of thing. It might even require the stamina and stammer of the cowardly lion. C...c...c...courage.
Which is pretty much where I came in.
