I have always had a secret love affair with art. When I was younger, I remember playing the game masterpiece and remember getting lost in the game pieces’ beauty and ignoring the actual play of the game. My parents were never big in art, however; the main works that hung in our living room were painted by grandmother. it has always intrigued me how each person could look at the same piece and have so many various interpretations from it.
Time and time again, I was reminded, ever so sweetly, that I was not an artist. Most of these opinions were presented to me as an adult for the mere reason I had trouble drawing a stick person. Ask me to draw a cat? Here’s what you would get.
Okay so safe to say, I’m not winning any contests!!
But then again…never say never. Over the summer, I was reading through Facebook posts and a local artist was looking for submissions for a show and your work needed to be based on your favorite artist. He was looking for pieces that paid tribute to that artist and how he or she inspired you. I read it and kept on scrolling. The next day, I searched out for that post and read it again. “Wow, how I would love to do something like that” kept circling around in my head. Finally, after 2 more days of weighing the pros and cons on actually making a submission, I made the strangest, “step out on a ledge” decision and began my own “masterpiece”.
It was a no brainer on my artist, Jackson Pollock. Strange, quirky, with no seemingly rhyme or reason to any of his pieces. But oh how that nonsense made sense to me. Color splashed on a canvas with such passion that I felt when you looked at it long and hard enough, the painting would reach out and command your attention. If you have never sat for 15 minutes or longer and stared into a Pollock, do yourself a favor and get to a museum. It’s truly breathtaking.
So here I was with a coffee can of paintbrushes, a color wheel full of passion, and an empty canvas. Now the hard part, how has he inspired me? Painting was a new passion for me this year. It was freeing, relaxing and truly a working therapist at times. Painting had allowed me to come out of my box. And there it was, my tribute. I smiled as stroke by stroke I threw, splattered, sprayed, and laid paint on the canvas. It was exactly what was in my head. It was exactly my interpretation of my life opening up and coming out of its box. It was exactly how I felt and I loved it.
“Pollock Out of the Box” isn’t going to win any awards. In fact, it was not even accepted into the show. It does however make me smile each day I see it hanging in my home and I remind myself that I am still a work in progress