Painting Memories

My daily hour commute from work to the house is always a source of peace to me. Yesterday was a different story, I needed more than just an hour to unwind all the stress from work. The next best thing to a glass of wine, which I REALLY wanted, was to sink in art therapy.


I got home and took out the painting easel I had purchased Thing One long ago. He had no interest with it at the time I got it for him. I figured this was a good time to introduce him to the magic of a paint brush, an easel, and your imagination. I prepared the easel with a big piece of paper and made sure there was a large enough old t-shirt to cover up my budding artist. Next I mixed the paint with soap and mixed it in. The day was nice enough to set it all up outside and enjoy all that Southern California offers on beautiful days like this.



Thing One came outside and kept saying "Paint Momma! Paint Momma!" It was great to see his huge eyes become even bigger. Smock on, paint brush in hand and he went to it. Big strokes, little strokes, "No don't paint the floor", "No don't paint your sister!". Every step of the way I had to guide him and let him know that paint was for paper. I know it's for other things, but those options were not available at this time. Are you kidding me??!!! Giving Thing One the knowledge of other options would be like saying "let's try them NOW". Watching him learn and explore with the easel took my to a good place in my memories.








I grew up with a father who graduated from college with a degree in art, which he never used. My father was forced to find other means to support his young family at the time and then just continued with the same line of work. Being a police officer does not offer many outlets for a creative spirit to be unleashed, so he would have several projects he would work on at home. I remember that he wasn't like other dad's who were in the garage "fixing" something or other, he was "creating". He had paint, canvases, sketch paper, colored pencils, charcol, all over the garage. I would often find myself sitting next to him in awe of what he could create from what he would observe. He once made a Santa Clause and a Monster out of recycled items. He would often take out paper and show me some art techniques and I would try to match his ability, but alas it was not a talent I had inherited from him.

I guess that's why I equate art as therapy for me, it takes me to that happy peaceful place in time. Thing One finished his masterpiece. For some it's a big blob of paint, no shape or form. My hope is that this blob of paint becomes a memory for Thing One that he can hold on to someday when he is not having a great day and he wants to be in a happy place.