Appreciating art... even my own

A couple of weeks ago I joined a group of warm and witty females for a night of creating art. Ironically, only days before I had unearthed my last attempt at artwork – an illustration of Jiminy Cricket from a drawing class my family took during a Disney World visit. My cricket was too big and semi-lopsided. That drawing alone should have been enough to deter me from ever trying it again. But this time there would be wine.

Second Born and I were invited to join Best Friend and her mom (affectionately known as Co-Mom), and there was even a special appearance by Big Sister of Best Friend. We were quite the crew with aprons donned, wine glasses in hand, ready to attack our empty canvases soon to be splayed with color. Here’s a hint: Do not wear anything you care about getting splayed, splattered or otherwise painted on when attending a wine and paint party. I swear it had nothing to do with the wine - I came close to coloring myself before the first sip.

Various paintings were displayed throughout the bright, cheery room. My first impression of the place was that it felt inviting and not at all intimidating. I can handle this, I decided confidently. I can turn this blank canvas into an acceptable rendition of the magnificent sunset painting we would soon be duplicating. Stop laughing.

Each station was supplied with four brushes in a container of water, six circles of various colors on a paper plate, and a thousand paper towels. Believe me, it’s barely enough when you have to soak a brush filled with black paint and wipe the color out of it so you can use yellow or white.

Under the guidance of our lead artist, broad strokes of yellow represented a bright ball of sun, followed by a pinkish hue dipping into purple shadows. With the soft thickness of the widest brush we created mountains across the canvas, until our sunset’s brilliance was reflected on a calm lake. A thinner brush swept wispy clouds into the bluish-black skies. A flutter of stars illumined the background. Tree branches dipped toward the water, rocks shimmered with the last light of the day.

I was doing art!

Near the end I stood back to admire my work. Wait a minute… how did my purple sunset disappear under my rock formations? Why do the bluish mountain shadows look more like sloths?

In the meantime the clock was ticking and we were supposed to be winding down. I knew mine wasn’t terrible but I have to admit my interest piqued when the artist mentioned S.O.S. sessions where you could complete or “rescue” a painting. I decided to skip the rescue, since I’m mildly leery of just how wrong a restoration could go.

Looks more like a stage than a sunset!

As Second Born and I were wrapping up I glanced over at Best Friend, Co-Mom and Big Sister. They were bent over their paintings, frantically adding the finishing touches before someone grabbed the brushes out of their hands. Their stars twinkled where mine dribbled and their wispy clouds didn’t look like my splotches. But the best part of those last few minutes was seeing mom and daughters working and playing together.

I wasn’t going for perfection – my goal was to laugh, enjoy the camaraderie, handle important issues like why the leaves on my tree looked like paws, and not get kicked out of class for smearing paint on everything within reach. Mission accomplished.

For a week or so, Second Born’s painting and mine were temporarily displayed on the end of the kitchen table, not necessarily to be admired first thing in the morning. Eventually they had to be relocated - at the moment they're both in her room (she doesn't know that yet). She chose to leave her piece behind when she headed back to college last weekend, but I have plans for my own attempt at art. It will eventually be displayed on a wall in the spare room...

which is a vast improvement over Jiminy Cricket’s place in the closet.