My Room Divider

     I am NOT an oil painter!  Do not attempt to dussuade me; I have come to grips with it.  I am writing this even as I am wiping globs of paint off my face.  I look like I went three rounds with my palette.
     I am presently working on the three-panel room divider I made in wood shop back in Taft and I so apologize to my shop teacher for defiling our hard work!  I wanted to paint Byzantine figures on it.  The hands are good.  I am confident that I can make the robes look good enough; it's the faces.
     Actually, it's not just the faces, it's my entire mentality.  I have this mind set.  Follow me here:  I have a Masters Degree.  People with Masters Degrees are very clever.  Bro. Poulson, the professional artist, does not have a Masters Degree and he can paint anything.  Ergo, I can paint Byzantine characters if I try.  Okay--so there's a hole in my reasoning.
     I've done a factor analysis of the situation and discovered that my lack of success is multi-causal.  One problem is my brushes.  Cheap brushes self-destruct.  As a result, I don't have crisp lines and, even more counter-productive, I have been tweezing brush hairs off my paintings all morning.
     Another brush issue is brush control.  I can draw just a bout anything and make it look good.  Nevertheless, a pencil and a brush require two different skill sets and my brush skills stink on ice.  I think that about covers it.
     Skills and supplies having been discussed, there's the Byzantine syle in and of itself.  All persons depicted look totally depressed and despairing of future events and/or future generations--like they know something we don't and are loathe to share.  I do NOT have the glory or I don't flow with the Byzantine Zen or something.  Maybe if I got really depressed, I too could make mournful, miserable faces.
     Apart for the drama, they all have great big, shadowed eyes, except, the figures I have been wrestling with.  They only look wrechedly despondent.  After painting the faces for the 89th time, I finally gave up and asked Bro. Mike Poulson for help.  His paintings are so remarkable that the images appear to hover over the canvas.
     I had misguidedly told him that I was going to do an oil painting and asked for his help in brush selection and colors.  He was eager to assist and invited Steve and me over to see his studio and to give me some basics--I mean elementary, not even elementary art school stuff, like artist preschool level.  (Inconsequential Note:  The last time I worked with oils was as a teenager.)
     He was helpful and supportive.  He told me which brushes to buy so that I could BLEND.  It clicked!  I KNOW HOW TO BLEND!  Actually, any make-up-wearing teeny bopper knows how to blend.  If I blend, my work will be wonderful, I thought.  I blended.  I blended so well that my "Byzantine" faces were starting to look like Cover Girls.
     After a week or two, Bro. Poulson started asking me questions at church, like, "Are you done yet?" and "When can I see it?"  Oh yeah, like I'm going to show my derisory attempts to him.
     I knew I was getting too wierd when I started sneaking around the church building to avoid Bro. and Sr. Poulson.  I came to grips with the truth:  I had to show him my work.  So after the 89th attempt on the faces, I gave up.  I called Bro. Pouslon who was very eager to come.

Bro. Poulson and the Room Divider

     The next Tuesday, Bro and Sr. Poulson came over and were verrrry supportive.  Let me make this clear:  They were extreamly supportive, but that's about it.  OK.  So he suggested I do a yellow wash over their robes.  (How does one do a yellow wash without smearing what has already been done?)  He told me to attach a dowel to a hook and hang it over the panels so that I would no longer drag my hand through the paint.  (Where does one get such a hook?  Do they even make them?)  He advised me to buy sable brushes.  (Ca-ching!)  Lastly, he suggested that I take his painting class.  (Read between the lines.)  Notice that nothing substantive was offered like, "Here!  Let ME do the faces for you...Ah!  Much better!"
     So I am plugging away at it.  I should be done within the next decade.  I have to bribe mysilf to work on it.  I mean I have a stash of 13 Hershey Bars on my work table.  This is genuinely pathetic.
     I must get over it and push along.  I feel like I have disappointed my pioneer ancestors who put their "shoulder[s] to the wheel" and "no toil nor labor fear[ed]."  Putting it off is just bad for my personal Zen.  So I better get busy and do what I'm supposed to do.  Maybe heavenly messengers will aid me and I will do the faces to my satisfaction today.  Maybe little pink men will skip into my attic and finish the painting while I sleep.