When a Painter Moves

Painted Corner

When a painter moves, the pigment follows…

Once again, my life is in boxes.  Acrylic paints are in an empty cardboard wine box, water color paints are in an old plastic storage bin, and my paintbrushes are in the drawer of a small wooden stand, which I hope to be able to move in one piece down the necessary 3 flights of stairs.  My scissors and my pencils are organized into old beer 6-pack boxes and my blank rolls of canvas are stacked, ready to be shoved into my trunk.

But my paintings are EVERYWHERE— leaning against the wall of my hallway, stacked in piles on my kitchen floor, stored in portfolios, framed on the walls, and hiding in every possible corner.  I stub my toes against the wooden frames.  I constantly stare downward upon my past creations.

With all of the materials that come with being an artist, I feel like I am moving 2 people each and every time I relocate.  I end up carting my paintings from one dwelling to the next as if they were multiple children.  And each time I move I have more.

I leave Rt. 7 with over 50 cityscapes, large canvases of geese, renderings of roosters, and several watercolors of everything from: trees to abstracts to maple syrup pails to bees to mountains to human figures.  Despite contextual creativity, my paintings can move from one locale to another, without completely changing identity.

Painting is like a dance.  I can paint in one place, move to another, and continue the movements.  The atmosphere may be different, the music may have shifted, the light may be changed, and the resulting brush strokes may alter.  However, painting is a fluid media.

In the midst of all that comes with packing, moving, nesting, and change, I am relieved to know that home is as simple as finding those paints in whatever cardboard box they are hiding inside.


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