I have a dysfunctional relationship with words. I’m infatuated… or maybe even obsessed. I love words without reason or reservation. I’m delighted to spend all day with them: hour after hour of reading or writing; placing and replacing and tweaking them until they’re arranged in a way that delights my soul.
And in return, they fail me. Over and over.
The little bastards got me again this week. I’ve joined an art group to force myself to make time for activities other than reading or writing; so every Friday afternoon I take my watercolour paints down to the group studio for yet another three hours of humiliation.
I don’t know why I’m so determined to paint in watercolour. I suck at it. In oils and acrylics I’m actually capable of producing something that resembles art, but my watercolours always resemble shit. Maybe I just have psychological issues that impel me to seek out destructive relationships.
Fortunately, I paint with a wonderful group. Everyone is supportive, tactful, and happy to help a poor beginner any way they can; lending materials and advice and encouragement in equal measure. And they all have a great sense of humour.
Lately I’ve been experimenting with frisket – a substance that goes onto the paper as a liquid but dries to a rubbery waterproof coating. It’s used to mask out sections of a painting before applying colour, so that when it’s removed the background colour is revealed. But it turns my brush into a rubbery pellet no matter how assiduously I rinse, so Hubby bought me a set of silicone brush-like tools instead.
The new tools work wonderfully. So, pleased to be able to offer something to the rest of the group instead of always being on the receiving end of their generosity, I showed off my new acquisitions last Friday.
We were standing around talking about the tools, and I explained that I’d been looking for a way to mask fine lines. But when I turned back to demonstrate, the fine-line tool wasn’t on my table. I glanced around the group of women chatting beside me and spotted one of them holding the tool I had in mind.
I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation, so I held out my hand.
She didn’t seem to get my meaning, so I wiggled my fingers. A faint wrinkle appeared between her brows. I wiggled my fingers some more, miming holding a brush between them.
She drew back a step, beginning to look concerned.
At that point all conversations ceased while everybody took in the sight of me apparently making pinching motions in the general direction of another woman’s boob.
When I finally managed to sputter, “My brush…” and point at her hand, a roar of laughter nearly raised the roof.
“Use your words, Diane,” another woman prompted, still giggling. “You’re a writer. You can do this. Use your words.”
Well, I would have… but as usual, the little buggers skipped out on me when I needed them the most.
I wonder if there’s such a thing as lexical relationship counselling…?
Author Diane Henders 
Oh dear, there goes your chances of ever having a career in politics. The boob thing I mean, not the failing words!
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Yep, my political career is over before it started. Whew, that’s a relief! 😉
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Heh heh – those scallywag words – right when you think they’re your friends, they TURN ON YOU! I’ve been losing words for a few years but only in terms of precision; when I can’t think of the exact one I want, I grab a different one that’s almost as good. Works for everything except place names and peoples’ names; for those, it doesn’t go over very well 😀
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LOL! Yep, nothing like that moment when you call your spouse by somebody else’s name… 😉
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And don’t think it hasn’t happened! (But it’s been my brother’s or my son’s name I’ve used, so it’s not as bad as it could be :))
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I hate when I am mid sentence and the word that was there a second ago completely disappears making me look as stupid as I try not to look…oh well….I admire your trek into painting…I come from a family lineage of painters and I being the one who was not so gifted but still had the visual creative drive jumped all over digital painting when it came into being….good for you!!
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I love your work, Kirt! You’ve obviously found your niche.
This past Friday I had a thrilling experience at the studio: I painted a small section of pebbly beach that actually looked like pebbly beach! The rest of the painting is crap; but at least I’ll be able to take what I know and (hopefully) use it to produce a painting that’s a little less crappy next time… 😉
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Gotta love your attitude…keep after it!!
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Hah! The pesky frisket! (a.k.a. masking fluid) Here’s a helpful hint to prevent the demise of your good, expensive brushes: Use an old, crappy brush, dampen it an rub in a drop of dish soap. Remove excess liquid. Dip into frisket and apply to your paper. As soon as you’re done with the brush, wipe it in a paper towel – the frisket should come off without much trouble. Happy painting!
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Aha! I knew there had to be a trick to it! Now, if only I could only make the painting look the way I see it in my mind… 😉
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Haha I could totally picture the scene. I often get stuck myself. Sometimes Dave and I seem to have an entire conversation without speaking. 🙂
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My Hubby and I do, too. I think that’s part of the problem – I don’t get out much; so I forget that other people don’t know my shorthand. Or, in this case, my wiggling hand…
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Fortunately, she didn’t come over to you and offer her boob. At that point words would have been beyond their capabilities. But, yes, my brain empties out immediately when I need it most.
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Now that you mention it, there are many ways that whole interaction could have gone much worse… and been much more embarrassing. I guess I should consider myself lucky!
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Haha, maybe the word part of your brain likes to enjoy some time off when you’re off painting. It gets worked so hard the rest of the week, it tries to sneak off when you’re not looking.
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That must be the reason! I like that explanation a lot better than early-onset dementia, anyway.
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It seems to only happen to me at critical junctures…like during my job interview yesterday. Ugh.
So funny you mentioned frisket though. I’d never heard of it until my mom mentioned it recently, she uses it for her watercolors. (Dear ole mom is working on being the next grandma Moses. ) So I picked up a bottle to play with for rock painting, which is my obsession but haven’t tried it yet. I was warned, however, to get a set of really cheap brushes to use for that and nothing else since “you’ll ruin them with the frisket”. But silicone…what a concept!
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Yeah, apparently they’re marketed as clay sculpting tools, but they work really well for frisket. And good on your mom for having the courage to start watercolour! For me watercolour is kinda like golf: Really difficult to master, and even the pros are never 100% sure what they’re going to get when they take a swing. But even for the rankest beginner, that one perfect stroke (of golf club or paintbrush) is enough to keep you coming back for more!
Bummer about your words deserting you during an interview; but I hope it’ll be okay anyway. I’ve interviewed lots of people, and I never held being temporarily tongue-tied against them. Unless you’re interviewing to be a radio or TV host… 😉
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I’ve been told that as we achieve higher levels of wisdom, we speak less. You’re not having trouble with words, you’re becoming wiser.
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Oh, thank you! I’ll just cling to that as my new favourite delusion. 🙂
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I hate to admit it, but this is happening to me more and more frequently as well. For example, just this morning, uh, well, er…crap.
Never mind. Forget I mentioned it. Apparently I already have. 😦
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Yep, I totally get it. Apparently I can’t talk and think at the same time… or even sequentially…
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