Perhaps it’s guilt. Once I use it, I’ve good as well wasted it. Objectively, nothing I produce will be worth displaying so all the joy must be had in the very limited amount of time I will spend with it. Ah, pressure… I must become wholly engulfed in it. Make a weekend of it. Make it worthwhile.
It’s not that I couldn’t find the time to do that. Really, it’s the picking something, one thing, and declaring, even for a day, “I am painting.” I mean, there’s so much else I could be doing. So much else I should be doing. It would be wholly impractical, wouldn’t it? Irresponsible, even.
Truth is, I don’t know exactly why the Bob Ross paint set has been stuck under my bed for three years. I was delighted to receive it. I told my now-fiancé that I had asked for it at many a birthday and Christmas as a kid. But, “You’ll make a mess,” my dad groaned. Besides, “You’ll only use it once,” and “Isn’t art your sister’s thing?”
Yes, it was all true. We each had our own thing. It stemmed from a very limited budget and, no doubt, a desperate attempt to keep peace amongst three young girls who were all starving for individuality and their own space. We bickered plenty about what was mine or hers or hers.
Singing was Erin’s thing.
Art was Devan’s thing.
At five, I became certain what would be my thing: Music. I had discovered my love for it sitting in my grandparents’ basement, mushing the keys on their retired upright and imagining what it would feel like to play songs.
But wanting anything came with limits. For starters, my mom told me Devan was already trying piano lessons. I guess they hadn’t realized her thing was supposed to be art yet.
So I tried other things. Like figure skating, which I adored. But I knew it was on the chopping block from the get-go because it was a long drive in evening traffic and it wasn’t cheap. I practiced as much as I could off-ice since I couldn’t get to the rink outside of lessons. When I didn’t pass Basic 3 on the first try, that was the end of it.
Pick something else.
Growing up, when you chose your thing, circumstances necessitated that it be your only thing. That was just practical.
Once you had a thing, it would consume all your free time and dominate all your books, posters, graphic tees, and gifts until it was disrupted by a move or it became apparent you’d never be flawless at it. Then you’d reinvent yourself around a new thing.
But my love for all those half-pursued interests didn’t simply dissolve. I still have my ice skates, fourteen years on.
As a grownup, I’ve been easing my way into being multi-faceted. Allowing myself to try things. All the things. And to be bad at them, and to be perfectly okay with being bad at them. I play guitar better than any other instrument but I’m letting myself learn piano anyway. I sit down and sew lovely clothes in the winter but some days I go skiing instead and I don’t pressure myself to graduate from the easy runs.
Indulgent? Yes. But it’s not unproductive. It’s not wasteful.
And that’s why the Bob Ross paint set has been on my mind a lot lately.
It’s true, as long as I don’t touch it, it’s full of untapped potential. But in what world would I ever be able to tap into all of its potential? Isn’t realizing just a portion of its potential better than never touching it at all? And isn’t using it the only way I’d ever get closer to being able to tap into more of its potential? More of my potential?
I’m not an aspiring painter by any stretch.
Just as I first fluttered away at piano keys, thrilled to hear notes at all, I shall let myself paint, happy to lay down anything. Anything at all. Because it’s not about the painting. It’s about painting.
I didn’t choose the kit ever expecting to be good at it. I merely want to experience it. To sit in front of an easel and douse a canvas in Titanium White. To carve out a mountain top behind a flowing river and surround the edges with trees and fill the sky with cotton candy clouds.
Really, the truly wasteful thing would be to leave it there another year. So, I will use the Bob Ross paint set. That is my final resolution of the year: to embrace being impractical, put all responsibilities aside, and enjoy doing something I’ve long wanted to do, however poorly it comes out.
