Our art project actually began several months ago as more of a creative and inspirational art project. We decided to go to the craft store together, and adding on a few more errands, I drove while Barton walked. Once arriving and hearing the “I was almost hit by a semi who jumped the sidewalk” story, I was just a little hesitant at whether or not this was worth it. And I was a little hesitant about whether or not we would find what we needed.
It’s not everyday you hear a customer ask, “If we wanted to paint his wheels to create an imprint- what kind of paper and paint would we use?”
While we relaxed over the Thanksgiving holiday and seeped into the fall sun and leaves, we were both inspired yesterday. As Barton mentioned, we hauled out all our supplies to the driveway, picking the square with the least number of cracks and set out everything we needed. As we prepared our canvas, I saw Barton’s excitement rise to the occasion. He was figuring out the perfect angle, timing and method as I was setting everything off to the side.
We did a test run on brown construction paper, and adjusted our methods accordingly. With each print, we scoured over what was the best section and how it fared in comparison with the others. The wind was blowing, and more than once the canvas blew into me- I had paint on my hands, jeans, and feet. Emerging from setting the print down inside the house, I found Barton, giddy over what the next one would produce.
After a while, we created this dance- Barton would move into his exact spot, I would paint the treads, and he would roll backwards by just a fraction. I could complete the splattering. In one movement, he rolled backwards, we assessed the outcome, I would pull of the tape and hold it so it wouldn’t fly into me, find a spot in the house where the dogs couldn’t reach, and emerge to begin the process again. It was a perfect dance.
On the last print, Barton painted the bottom of my foot with the Indigo ink to include a footprint. He held the paintbrush in his mouth, and I sat on the concrete holding my foot in his lap while he brushed on the ink, cold to my toes. As I added my footprint, I felt the same giddiness as Barton.
This was such a different feeling for me. So much of my life has been serious and in some ways I had been unconsciously taught for it to be filled with work- get a job, manage life and deadlines, it should be serious and feel like work. Blah, blah, bah humbug.
But this was amazing- it felt free, and I felt inspired to write and create. I began to shed the adult shackles of crankiness and live into the play I had so much resisted.