I consider myself to be quite adept at painting…
no not the Monet or Degas type, not crafting a perfect sea scape or another fresh faced Mona Lisa, rather this is the run of the mill – paint the wall type painting. Well I though I was until I met the man of my dreams who I will affectionately call the Paint Meister. I had managed to live years before knowing that there are secrets not only in brushes, but strokes, and knowing about what to do if you have to leave your painting utensils even for a minute in order to grab a water or see Jennifer Aniston’s new hairdo. And heaven forbid….painting right out of the can with the lid OPEN….gasp! Don’t get me started on taping strategies because that in itself is an art form…taping lines, taping schemes, pulling it off when the paint is wet and staring at your new aqua hands. How had I managed to live unscathed all these years? The Paint Meister sees every slight imperfection in my work and he calls me on the carpet for it. I used to paint everything, preferably with spray paint. Faster, right? Now I have to sneak around and paint (while cautiously looking over my shoulder). Oh the pressure…the pressure of being compared to the Meister, the pressure of color matching, runs, drips and bleeding. The other day I was going to practice the art of “feathering” while touching up the wall scuffs, but it didn’t seem to work – so I dabbed the marks….the paint of course was off a few shades and the hardware guy gave me semi-gloss when it should have been flat. Now I have a Dalmatian wall which I fully intended to cover in art, but maybe not Monet or Degas, something in early Crayon or Stick People. But wouldn’t you know it…the Paint Meister called me on it! I tried denial at first, “What wall?” “Oh that wall?” “Where on the wall?” “Oh yes, I see it…” “Hmmm….” “Maybe somebody broke in and decided to paint….” But all was hopeless and there I was, busted again. Oh well, another lesson….another wall….. 🙂
Painting with the Meister….
Published inpoetry