Finger Painting

I like to paint with acrylics on canvas. Typically, I use a variety of brushes. Occasionally, I like to finger paint. There’s something about telling my inner critic to buzz off in no uncertain terms and settling into childlike play is my most fiercesome weapon against it. Finger painting is a giant raspberry in the face of that wretched critic.

A couple of summers ago, I did a finger-painted portrait of our neighbors’ speckled hen. She is a glorious silver wyandotte–black and white all over with red on her head. I had so much fun painting her and I was delighted to show another neighborhood artist, Pierre, who lives three doors down with his wife, Sue, and his dog, Gus. Pierre paints American flags and does detail work on vintage cars. He’s incredibly talented, an awesome neighbor, and a kind person worth knowing. He indicated interest in learning how to finger paint chickens, too. At first I thought that’s not really something I can teach, but maybe it’s something we could do together. For nearly two years, Pierre mentioned his interest and I said of course, sure. And yet, we never did it.

This is where Bryan comes into the story. Bryan would often talk about the “let’s do lunch” phenomenon. People can say, “hey, let’s get together” or “let’s do lunch” without any real intention of doing either, but by saying those words, it scratches the same itch in the brain as actually doing the thing. Here I had been telling Pierre “let’s do lunch” over an activity I enjoyed and knew he would, too. Not my best work. Friday, I saw Pierre out front on the walk with Gus. We chatted about the weather and our lovely neighborhood, all the ways we are blessed and grateful. And Pierre brought up finger painting chickens once again. These gentle entreaties were never overbearing, simply a desire to do something fun with a neighbor.

“Pierre,” I said, “what does your Sunday morning look like?” We scheduled a session in his garage/den/studio for this mid-morning. I have been taking photos of chickens constantly, so I had a lot to choose from. We painted together on one canvas and I explained how with finger painting there are no rules except to have fun. No shoulds or judgment. Play. A Vietnam vet and retired painter and his 46 year-old neighbor turned into little kids getting their hands dirty in all colors of paint. I didn’t think I was any sort of art teacher, particularly to an accomplished artist like him. Sometimes, though, I think we need permission and examples of good, wholesome play and possibilities and messiness.

My sister, who is staying with me for a while as she recovers from a serious medical emergency, came down the alleyway and found us in Pierre’s garage. The enthusiasm and glow of joy were infectious. She remarked how Pierre seemed to shine, that very same sensation I had the first time I had finger painted the speckled hen two years ago. We finished an impressionist version of the hen and each signed a corner of the canvas–PR on the bottom right and RL on the bottom left.

I miss Bryan. I wish he could have been here to see this. But I love so much that his spirit and the things he taught me are still very much with me. Thank you, sweetheart.