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I haven’t picked up a paintbrush in years. YEARS. At least ten of them, but probably more like fifteen.

Tonight a friend’s extremely talented daughter, who I love and think is brilliant, posted some of her art to Facebook today. And I’ll tell you the corniest thing on earth: We were listening to some Sirius “Softer Side of the 70’s” station today and Christopher Cross’ “Sailing” came on. And please just stab me with something sharp and rusty, but I always liked the line “the canvas can do miracles”, mainly because I like “canvas” and “can do”; the hard c’s play well together.

Anyway, I was thinking about art, and I was thinking about canvas. And just last weekend I had reorganized my basement, and had put my paints and brushes next to my drop cloths and art books for the first time in ages. It was like a reunion.

So – at midnight, in my pajamas – I painted this startling, stupid, high school art project.

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More than anything, it was a color study, just to remind me how to mix paints and use my brushes. Not that I was ever that good at it. My friend Al (whose work I hope to feature alongside a short story or two, soon) had me do a study in blue at his art studio once, about a million years ago. But I had to learn corporate things and move to another state, and there were no more color studies for me.

So here’s this thing I did, because I love art even though I’m bad at it. But it felt great to get paint on my hands again, and I think I may have ruined a cool t-shirt, but I don’t even care. It was too much fun.

(Please don’t try to make me feel better about my art. I kinda hate that. Thanks!)

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