paint by numbers

The cottage Neil and I rented in New Zealand came furnished. This is perfect when you are looking to live somewhere for a while, but hoping not to accumulate anything remotely resembling a couch. Perfection falls flat, though, when your decorator fashions the place after a hospice. Quaint, tranquil scenes of the beach, and still life birds told us there was nothing to fear. The end would come softly, like a mother's embrace, and we would be whole again. They also said our friends would make fun of us, and girls would ride off on someone else's Harley. We needed some bad ass art!
I'm no artist, but I took the job. I like to think that what I created from plywood, duct tape, and one small, sample sized jar of blue paint was simply a transitional phase in my development. Picasso had a blue period before he settled on Cubism. I could have a blue period.

My formal training in the arts extends only to the 6th grade. After that, we weren't required to enroll in anything which might advance our cultural understanding. I was always a sports fanatic, so I picked gym classes over learning about aperture, overture, or underture. Besides, I held a lasting memory of our elementary school art teacher melting down after her room full of rowdy 5th graders refused to be quiet. That particular classroom door on the 1st floor of the Wilmore-Davis school might still bear the dent of a cowboy boot kicked in anger. This act alone was sufficient raw emotion to scare me away from the arts until I fled the country right after college.
Given enough time, I guess I was ready to try again. Especially when combined with the prospect of living abroad in a house fit for an old lady. I tried to imply a sense of Mel Gibson's valiant Scottish war mongering from Braveheart, and unfurled a blue background crisscrossed with the the raw wood which I didn't paint. What I got was partially painted wood. Nothing more.
Neil recognized my efforts and allowed the three monstrosities to hang in our living room. What a gentleman. Our friends laughed, and the girls all chased the bikers, anyway.