The Voices in my HeadThe Painting
November 26th 2006 06:49
I sat in a corner painting a picture of my life. I selected the shape and size of my canvas and the hues which best suited the picture in my mind. I painted my life’s images, creating as I went along. I am much too undisciplined to sketch out a first draft. I so enjoy the spontaneity of it, the creative process.
As I sat there, minding my own business, a stranger walked up to me with anger in their eyes. They held a paintbrush, dripping in red paint, at their side. The crimson drips made a bloody puddle on the floor, when suddenly, that angry red paint was sloshed onto my masterpiece. I had worked so hard on it; I was in total shock that someone would do such a thing. Regaining my ability to speak, I asked the stranger why they had ruined my picture.
The stranger looked at me, aghast. “What do you mean? It obviously needed red!”
“No, it really didn’t”, I argued, trying to remain calm. “It is my picture and I didn’t want red on it. I don’t like red.”
“Well, what’s wrong with red?” the stranger asked. “I use it and my painting is fine. In fact, it’s better than your painting.”
“Then paint your own picture and use all the red you want. My picture doesn’t look as nice with red. In fact, it just doesn’t work at all. It’s ruined.” I explained.
“That is ridiculous. It looks good on my canvas…you should use it, too.” The stranger persisted. Confused by this argument, the anger started to rise within me.
“If you do not mind, who are you to tell me what colors to use? You don’t know what I want to paint. You haven’t any idea who I am or what I like. There is nothing wrong with my painting…or at least there wasn’t. Just because you think I should paint one way, doesn’t mean that is the ONLY way to paint!” I grabbed the white paint and started to paint over the red spatter, which extended from the upper right hand corner to the lower left.
“If you paint that picture without red, it will be less of a painting, you know.” The stranger cocked their hip. “Everyone should use red. You aren’t much of a painter if you don’t, much less an artist, like me.”
“Tell you what…” I said to the stranger. “Go down that hallway…I have four paintings hanging there. They are beautiful masterpieces, everyone says so. I think each one is priceless. I haven’t used red in any of those paintings. Do you see how lovely they are anyways? Do you see how much everyone admires them? I am not a master painter. I have never claimed to be. But I know what works well with the image I have in my mind.” I wondered if she would compare them to her own work, again. “May I see your paintings?” I asked, hoping to strike some middle ground.
“I don’t have any of my own. But if I did…I would use red.” The stranger walked away and I laughed to myself.
“Never mind, then,” I said out loud and went back to painting...using my own technique.
As I sat there, minding my own business, a stranger walked up to me with anger in their eyes. They held a paintbrush, dripping in red paint, at their side. The crimson drips made a bloody puddle on the floor, when suddenly, that angry red paint was sloshed onto my masterpiece. I had worked so hard on it; I was in total shock that someone would do such a thing. Regaining my ability to speak, I asked the stranger why they had ruined my picture.
The stranger looked at me, aghast. “What do you mean? It obviously needed red!”
“No, it really didn’t”, I argued, trying to remain calm. “It is my picture and I didn’t want red on it. I don’t like red.”
“Well, what’s wrong with red?” the stranger asked. “I use it and my painting is fine. In fact, it’s better than your painting.”
“Then paint your own picture and use all the red you want. My picture doesn’t look as nice with red. In fact, it just doesn’t work at all. It’s ruined.” I explained.
“That is ridiculous. It looks good on my canvas…you should use it, too.” The stranger persisted. Confused by this argument, the anger started to rise within me.
“If you do not mind, who are you to tell me what colors to use? You don’t know what I want to paint. You haven’t any idea who I am or what I like. There is nothing wrong with my painting…or at least there wasn’t. Just because you think I should paint one way, doesn’t mean that is the ONLY way to paint!” I grabbed the white paint and started to paint over the red spatter, which extended from the upper right hand corner to the lower left.
“If you paint that picture without red, it will be less of a painting, you know.” The stranger cocked their hip. “Everyone should use red. You aren’t much of a painter if you don’t, much less an artist, like me.”
“Tell you what…” I said to the stranger. “Go down that hallway…I have four paintings hanging there. They are beautiful masterpieces, everyone says so. I think each one is priceless. I haven’t used red in any of those paintings. Do you see how lovely they are anyways? Do you see how much everyone admires them? I am not a master painter. I have never claimed to be. But I know what works well with the image I have in my mind.” I wondered if she would compare them to her own work, again. “May I see your paintings?” I asked, hoping to strike some middle ground.
“I don’t have any of my own. But if I did…I would use red.” The stranger walked away and I laughed to myself.
“Never mind, then,” I said out loud and went back to painting...using my own technique.
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Comment by DuskDevi
Rugby World Cup 2007
4 masterpieces of your own.
This is brilliant Voices.
You are brilliant.
Devi
Comment by David my David
The people who used to love passion red now laugh at it as a silly colour to use, and mock it to scorn in public.
I paint privately in tear blue now.