Art Under Attack

It was a typical summer morning. I was at church and had taken pictures of the children singing in front of the congregation. I don't remember the event, but took pictures for a new piece I entitled Young joy. I entered my studio and went over to the closet office and selected a canvas, colored inks, and watercolor paints.

In this chaotic world I felt it was nice to close it out for awhile, or so I thought. I set up my canvas and began to arrange my inks and paints and then the phone rang. "Shit who the hell is that?" As I got up to answer the phone, my inks, paints, and pencils fell vicariously to the floor. I ignored the mess for a minute and picked up the phone on the third ring. "Hello?" It was a sister from church. She had my prints from last weeks order and cash. I stared at the clock as we chatted. "Is six ok for you?" Yeah, thank you, see you then."

I returned to my desk and picked up the inks, pencils and paints and wiped up the water I had spilled. After scrutinizing the canvas for artifacts from the spill I mused at the possibilities of the background. I arranged to supplies and began to sketch in the first figure, and then doorbell rang. "Now what?"

It was the neighbor lady. I didn't like her. She came to complain about my music. I nodded and smiled reassuring the old bat. "Shit I thought she was deaf." Oh well. I went inside after she left and locked the door. I leaned against the cool wood door and sighed. "I've got to get a dog."

I went inside the studio to my desk and clicked the volume down. I didn't like the muffled vibrations inside headphones. I felt they were too distracting and make my head sweaty. I began to sketch out each figure which must have been a good hour before the phone rang again. I grabbed my coffee and as I stood up, caught the paint pallet and it slid down the front of my jeans and onto the floor. I shrugged. Picking up on the third ring it was a person ordering commissioned work. When we agreed on a price and medium, I hung up and went back to my desk. The room was quiet, since during the sketches, the music had stopped. I clicked on another playlist and refilled my water, and wiped up the paint. I mixed a new batch and began to fill in a few figures . Must have been twenty minutes, but got another rude interruption. the doorbell rang, and I got up, more carefully since I didn't want to repeat another spill. I went to the door and unlocked it and peered outside. On the porch was a package. I looked for anyone who delivered it. No one. I picked up the package and read the label. It was the supplies I had ordered las week. I went inside and tossed the package onto the couch, locked the door, and returned to my studio.

I settled into my work, applying inks to the outlined areas with a liner brush and washed over the tacky paint with a fan brush to achieve a "washed" effect. Satisfied, I mixed a new batch with the plan of ignoring the phone or door at least until I completed this next part. I was immersed in my work, swaying to the music in the background when I was startled by and abrupt "bang".

"What the hell is that?" I clutched my chest and laughed, I really need to get a dog. I got up and grabbed my cold coffee, which slipped deftly from my fingers and crashed to the floor. " Shit. I freaking can't win today!"

I went to the door, and unlocked it. Peering outside. Nothing. "What the hell...….?" I closed the door and stepped out onto the walk. Nothing. I went around the house and there, in the middle of my bedroom windows was a crack that stretched lazily across the pane. Chips of glass and a rock rested on the grass below. Frustrated, I went inside, locked the door, and screamed. I settled down and instead of coffee grabbed a clean mason jar and poured it half full with wine. I called my insurance and the police who abruptly arrived. I downed a few swallows of wine and proceeded to report the happenings of the broken window and showed them the damage. They took reports, asking a lot of questions. I thought, must have the neighbor's grandchildren. Gave them the names and information of everyone I had in contact with and my insurance agent. They reassured me they would look into it. I doubted it.

I went back inside after that and finished the glass and poured another helping of wine and went into my studio. I touched the canvas, the paint was still slightly tacky. "Thank God!" I took a clean brush and dipped it into the water and washed over the nearly finished piece. I sipped more wine calming down and changed the play list to something softer to sooth my chaotic, jagged nerves.

Satisfied with the piece, I stepped back gingerly and looked ate the canvas and smiled. "Yes, finally it's complete." I took a can of varnish I use for this special medium mix and gently brushed a thin film across the canvas to preserve the masterpiece. I took a few pictures to document it into my gallery for future orders.

I picked up my easel and closed it placing it and my supplies into my closet office, returning to my desk, and while wiping the paint, ink and water spilled. grabbed my glass and downed the last sip of wine. I looked down at my jeans, and laughed. the paint dried into an upside down pool of psychedellic mess. I was done.