Colors

Percpective on Creativity

 

I painted a picture in acrylics on December 29^th and decided on using only black and white. It took all afternoon and into the evening. My daughter, Sarah, home for the winter break, flipped channels in her pajamas, sipping on homemade hot chocolate while I mixed shades of gray and stepped into my picture. It was a simple landscape with tall, fluffy trees and a patchy trail beneath a modest bridge in Central Park.

If I tired after a couple of hours, we would switch. You see, my daughter is also gifted in storytelling. She uncovered tree branches and twigs in the background while I rested my mind and enjoyed our quiet lolling around. We traded places again. Sarah curled up in a blanket and I worked on the details – the dark creepy branches in the foreground and the small, subtle lamppost hidden in the shadows; then covered the yellowing border with soft silky white. After eight or ten hours, our painting proudly hung on the wall, surrounded by pictures of family. We stood back and admired our newfound memory, another experience shared and to be treasured for always.

 

 

When company arrives, neither of us points it out. Only wait for the pathway to capture their eye. My son's girlfriend stopped mid-step from the kitchen into the living room and cautiously brought her feet back together. She stared into the painting with a sparkling smile and was lost for a minute, as though she were having a daydream. Her childish interest was a sweet morsel of delight. It's like that satisfaction you get after slaving over a hot stove and savoring the scraping of dinner forks while everyone eats – and the quiet is your reward.

When the guy I was dating saw the picture, he said, "I like the white border. It's nice."

 

 

 

 

 

We are no longer together.

A few days ago, I picked up Malachi from school. He's a humorously inquisitive six-year-old, both cynical and exasperating.

"So how do you like Mrs. Little?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes and slammed the car door. "She's boring."

"Boring?" I pressed the brake release button and backed out of the parking lot. "Why?" These new teachers didn't know how inventive my nephew could be – he once jumped onto a desk during class time and announced he was going to decapitate the teacher. (This was after watching Pirates of the Caribbean, of course.)

"She wouldn't let me color the snowman any color I want."

"Well, sometimes you have to follow the directions on the paper."

He folded his arms across his chest and scrunched his eyebrows toward me. I knew I was in for something off the wall. He said, "Well, that's just barnacles! White isn't even a color."

I loved his newly discovered word and thought it would be bad timing to explain what it meant right then. I only said, "I know mijito, it's okay… some people just don't get it."

Author's Note

How do you respond to people who just don't understand the creative process?