It always begins with an empty canvas. Pure, open, contemplated. An idea, an inspiration. Hands scurry, etching lightly in charcoal. Erasing, changing until a form is created. Vivid colors jump in the artist head, rushing through veins to the brush held ready. Images transferred come to life on before his, her very eyes. Majestic beauty brings tears.
Flurry of motion, emotion as pornographiti spews, scrawling messages, changing the scene. Rorschact blots of splatter paint rain blows upon that which once was there. Confusion. Reality. A new baby. A family before it's time, pushed out before it ever had a chance to bloom. What happened to my serene canvas?
I was asked the question today, "Where do boys learn to court girls?" Being one of those annoying people, I answered the question with a question, "Where do they or where should they?"
Watching their parents, fight, hug, yell, silently. Experimenting in the back seat of a car. Their friends telling stories, made up to impress. Magazines spouting ten ways to land the girl of your dreams, just turn to the centerfold and see. Movies, always depict reality right? The gym teacher, with his tired old football jokes. Cincinnati Been-gals, get it? What guy would be caught dead talking about love with another guy, what are you, gay? Other than the 15 uncomfortable minutes with dad, the birds and the bees. Who ever tells little boys, what love is?
Left to their own devices they figure it out. Many times in reverse. First comes sex, second comes marriage, then figure out love around a baby carriage. Does it have to be this way? It all starts as an empty canvas, who will help them paint?
The picture is by Jack Vettriano. A favorite artist of ours, we have several hanging around the house.