Food For Thought

Today should have been a day out. It was spoiled or it was actually my body that ruined the day out for me and my friend. We were planning to go to a Christmas show and the cinema (something we'd been putting off for years), and then came the 'big bang', and it seemed wise to me to just sit and lie down on the floor. Better that than a concussion, like the lady who sat next to me in the painting course last Wednesday. A lovely woman, very straight-talking, although she said since this happened, she can't feel anything anymore and throws herself into everything with enthusiasm. Was what she said true? I don't really believe it, otherwise, she wouldn't have said that it was because her husband, who doesn't work anymore and is home all day, was getting on her nerves.

We were messing about with paint and an elastic band. I thought I'd try the tube of titanium white, but it was just as bad as my paint. Analysed: lumps in a watery mess, and of course,e it splattered out of the tube. Partly on my paper and on my scarf. She watched with interest as I picked up the post-Amsterdam [likely a brand name or a specific type of tube]. "You have to be careful with that," she said, "there's a big hole in it." That hole was big enough to stick a brush through, which seemed more sensible to me than squeezing it upside down over my paper or a brush. Intrigued, she watched me struggling to get little stars out of it. "How are you doing that?" she asked. "Oh, an elastic band as well." "Well, I still think what I have is ugly, and that is ugly too," she added, pointing at my blob of titanium white snot.

Well, what could I possibly make from that mess? I think I should have just blotted it, but to be honest, that lesson wasn't much to write home about. She had never painted or done anything creative like that and paints every day, and together we sat there looking on in horror. The standard isn't high, and although the painter lady was happy that I came, she also apologised that we were now going to do something stupid. Well, it wasn't completely stupid. She had dried leaves and flowers which she claimed came from her own garden and had taken a year to dry. Ahem... one of the ladies said what I was thinking: "What do you mean, a plant press? We just used to do that between a book." Another added: "I can't imagine that takes a year to dry."

While I was painting a twig silver (with poster paint?), someone else was busy with a glue gun. Of course, it was impossible to glue a dried leaf with a glue gun, although the teacher claimed it was the only way. Disappointed, one of the ladies looked at the pulverised mess and threw it in the bin. "Can't you just stick it down with paint?" I asked. According to the teacher, you couldn't. "We'll see about that," I thought. It was time to go to my next hand and span service [a Dutch idiom for a chore or duty].

My paint-wet leaves, I folded them inside a piece of coloured card. In a few hours, I would check at home what had become of them. Take a wild guess: indeed, the leaves are stuck fast to it. I believe you shouldn't accept everything blindly and should just go your own way. It's quite clear that what doesn't work for one person, definitely can for another. In my case, I have at least saved myself the following: a glue gun, glue, electricity, wasted time, and frustration. Even if the standard wasn't high, I at least have enough food for thought.

If I feel better tomorrow (or this weekend), I'm going to collect autumn leaves and twigs and dry them or paint them and see if I can use them to decorate an old mirror. I asked her if that was possible. She said it was possible, but that I wouldn't be able to clean the mirror then. Not that I have a need to, seeing as it's rather damaged and there are three specimens dumped in the attic by the previous occupant or the landlord. I think it's also possible to varnish the whole thing. If that's the case, then I can always varnish the lot (or just put that mirror back in the attic). We shall see.

^{30.10.25
Prompt: see title
#ccc #thoughts #freewrite #artonsteemit #steemexclusive}