February 17, 2008

Petting Zoo

After visiting daddy at the heart hospital, I took my easel to the "other hospital". This time, when I went through the iron gate, I noticed a sign "Authorized Personell Only". I thought that if they really meant that they wouldn't leave it unlocked. Besides, if the door was all the way open I wouldn't notice the sign. It was possible, like yesterday, that I could accidentally come in. So why should I be punished for noticing? This would probably be my only chance to paint in an insane asylum. I honestly couldn't stand the thought of not painting there.

I got about fifty steps inside and a white truck with "Security" on it was rolling up the street. I just kept walking like I knew what I was doing. I wondered what they thought of the canvas and the wooden chest. Maybe they'd think I was a doctor with a briefcase. What was weird is that I felt like I had some right to be there as "an artist". The painting *had* to be done.

The truck passed and I noticed a used white latex glove along the sidewalk. I thought, "Yeah. I'm in. This is cool." I decided that the truck didn't stop because they probably just didn't care. I looked like either a visitor or some straggler taking a shortcut.

I decided to paint at this fountain. It was a rusty thing. It was enclosed in a circle of limestone. A round aqua-yellow pool was around that. More limestone and couple broken benches around that. The trees were full-on winter with jutty twisted branches.

About a quarter way into the painting, this suburban pulled up, and a lady hopped out. In broken English she said, "Yes. I am Malaysian. I am from Malaysia. Can I have picture?!?"

About half-way into the painting, a doctor looking guy appeared. He told me that he'd come back in a couple hours to check my progress. That *really* screwed me *all* up. For the next three hours I was concerned about him coming back.

At about three-quarters, I heard a violent moaning yelling episode. That really sobered me. No joke, people are tormented. I am a wuss who loses sleep.

Between three-quarters and seven-eighths, I heard an elderly black woman's voice, "I just *knoooow* that's something pretty." She looked at the painting and said, "Now just what is it that attracts artists to water?" I told her I didn't know. She asked me, "How much would a painting like that run ya?" I told her I didn't really sell them. It was just for fun. She said, "Well now, that is a nice hobby. I'll let you get back to your concentrating."

I began to hack the painting. At about seven-eighths, I took the pool out. This made the fountain look like a big statue. It was well done. Alone, it looked good. But it was just too big. It said, "Hey! I am a big fat statue which people sit around and look at." I went back and sat for a few minutes, and then strode up to the painting and scraped off the fountain. It was the central piece. I took the fountain out. I am studying trees, and there was no room for the fountain and the trees. Then I took out a bench. I moved it right. Then I added the bench I was sitting on at the base of the painting. All the time waiting for the tree. But I liked the path in front of the bench. The tree would just be stuck there. In the end, I didn't add a tree. The center piece became the bench at the bottom. The bench's partner looks a bit off kilter, as if it can't decide whether it should walk off or stand or fall over.

I had already scraped my palette two times because it was littered with paint. I had tubes open on the ground. My face was getting sunburned. All along I was adjusting my easel to keep it out of the sun.

That was it. My face was burning. So then I moved my easel to a tree where I could be in the shade. I took two or three tubes of paint. Now I had two places to run back and forth between.

I was also running out of paper towels, some of which had heavy blobs of scraped portions of the painting, not to mention entire palette cleanings. I was stuffing them in my backpack.

My face was burning. I wondered if I had accidentally rubbed paint on my face. I looked at my jeans. They had lots of paint on them. So I started rubbing my face with my shirt. Dang it. Now I knew that freaking doctor accountant-like guy was going to show up. If I had paint on my face... and the painting looked like some nut-case had scribbled.

I knew what he was going to think. He was going to think I was a wannabe Van Gogh. But with my face all sunburned or with paint all over it... and my jeans... and the scribbled freak job... he would probably just think I was stupid. That'd be the worst. He would think I was stupid. Then I thought, "Maybe I am stupid."

Between seven-eighths and eight-eighths I stood in front of the painting and thought, "Dang. Man, just clean up."

My last visitor was some kid, on a bicycle, with a black death metal looking shirt. He asked a bit shyly, "Soo, uhhh, where do I go to visit someone here?" I said, "I don't work here." (Later I saw the same kid at the Walgreens).

I cleaned up and left. When I got back around people on the trail, I was playing a game where I would try and point the painting towards the least likely angle that it and I could be noticed.

But now, somehow, I really like the painting.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Okay - so you have to keep having these adventures - they are so entertaining! And
moving. They remind me of those stories people read aloud on NPR that are funny, entertaining, deep and thought-provoking...just people living life and noticing and interacting and observing more than the usual- busy -rushed -harried person
I wonder if that kid had a Mom or Dad there...or a friend..or grandparent...
I have heard someone moaning and wailing like that at a nursing home...it is so sad and kinda horrifying.

Keith said...

The kid was pretending he knew somebody there. He thought I was a "resident", one to pet.

Later, I saw him at the Walgreens. I walked past him and smiled like, "Yeah, that's me. The guy at the funny farm. Don't worry. I'm not following you. I'm sane. Just here to get some cashews and a gatorade for supper." That was funny. He stared straight ahead with big eyes.

Anonymous said...

That is funny! He was just sneaking in there, too. You probably totally freaked him out!