Severe weather. Rain, hail, wind, tornadoes. It was a decision to weigh carefully.
I got online, checked email, the weather forecast, and browsed through Pinterest. Introductory painting tutorials that other crafty folks had pinned caught my eye, something they've never done before.
Painting. I should paint. I'll run my errand, and have the entire afternoon to paint.
I have to tell you: I don't paint. Aside from mock ups and modeling of art projects for my kindergartners, the only brushes I use regularly are for my foundation, blush, eye shadow and face powder. I have a stiff bristled brush for glue, and several sponge "brushes" for Mod Podge projects in the crafty nook, along with canvases too, canvases that I use for layered collages, not for painting.
The thought of painting has intimidated me for years, partly because I was regularly exposed to fine art, acknowledging those artists as true masters, not mere doodlers, and partly because paint is a medium I haven't enjoyed the feel of. It's squishy, wet, messy, cold. I like paper, scissors, yarn, glass, solder, and other textiles. Yet today, none of my usual fear or aversion argued with I want to paint.
I laid out some sheet music, brushes, acrylic pastels, and the glass lid from one of my ribbon jars.
Pink, blue, lilac, black, white. Circles. Nothing intimidating. Look at how the music notes still peek through. And so I continued:
Spots, polka dots, doughnuts. Circles. I enjoy painting. Why have I waited so long to try this?
Not five minutes into the blue painting, I received news that my grandmother had passed away sometime yesterday... my grandmother, who had been known to paint. Not regularly, mind you, but off and on, when the mood hit her. When she was inspired. When she just had to paint, and had the perfect spot for some artwork, like the nook in her dining room.
I certainly have quite a few more tears left to cry, but I know she's okay.
I know that she was here.
She told me to paint.