I woke up and walked over to C.'s house.
We were going to work together for the day. It is a trial to get this job in the city so that I can finally get off of my ass and move down here. I was very excited to be doing something. This could be my chance. I woke up in an awesome mood, and just really ready for the day.
But something was missing.
I knew what it was, but I didn't want to put words to it.
I stood on ladders, and worked all day. Bullshitted with C. and in general (aside from terrifying heights, brutally cold winds, and a bee sting) I had one of the best days I've had at work in a really long time. I love to cook, but if I had to be a painter for a while, I would love that too. I just love the feel of real work. Of getting something done with your hands and your body.
I took a look at myself at the end of the day. Work jacket, red cold hands covered in paint, and felt a smile cross my face.
I know that you would like this look on me.
But I'm trying not to think about that to much.
That brings a smile to my face too though.
We stop on the way back from work to get some beers, and then C. is telling me he has tickets for the game. Suddenly we are getting ready, and out the door. P. is picking us up with A. to give us a ride to the game. It is cold and wet, but so much fun.
And I know that you would love to be here for this too.
I'm all grins and bittersweet, but today was a damn fine day.
So I call you to tell you that.
File under Virtue.
2 comments:
I like paint on my fingers too, but for different reasons I think.
It makes me wish you had a old typewriter. One that has a ribbon that can be pulled and smelled. touched.
I think about your paint-covered fingers typing on a clean keyboard, and- as an artist, I must say- I dislike the thought. I raise my nose at it.
Then I picture stubble on your face, a semi-cold beer next to your mouse and I feel better.
I realize my thoughts here may make you a tad uncomfortable- I know they're slightly invasive. What can I say? I like my art authentically raw... and sometimes dirty.
How is this for you?
I keep a note book with me all the time, and most of these come from that (in some form or another), that notebook is full of all kinds of pen. Blobs of food (and now paint) the cover is rolling in on itself and has something stuck to the front that I can't seem to get off of it.
I have spilt beer on it. And there are cigarette ashes in it.
Truth be told, I drink a beer like 90% percent of the time when doing this too. If not more (if you read some of the older posts), but I like my art dirty too.
I keep it real.
You know this.
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