I think I dropped my whimsy in a bucket of blood. 

Or it could have been a tin mine. 

Maybe those pesky piskies ran away with it when I was knee-deep in pasties.  Or, are pasties the antidote to whimsy? That makes sense. Too much of a good thing and all that malarkey.

But where did it go? 

Yes. precisely. 

When one ball is dropped another bounces up. Better a ball than a door. Doors have their own stories and can’t be used so frivolously.  

Is she going mad?

It could be so, but who are you to judge? 

*Inner reflection* 

So, I dropped the whimsy and picked up the art philosophy. Having many a mask turns out to be quite fortuitous. Like having multiple personalities.

I won tickets to a prestigious art show.  Me. I won. I revelled, I did. I revelled even more when I discovered that another family member and an artist for realz were the other winners.

Is that not a sign?

I have always revered the artist, particularly when you meet them face to face. They’re an odd kind of celebrity. For a start off, they have talent that I crave and they have this bonkers kind of attitude that I rather like. 

Off we went to the show which was held over three days. I went to all three days because my ticket allowed it and I learnt all manner of things and came away believing I could paint like a master. 

Believing? Knowing. Yes, I could feel the savvy being summoned!  

All I needed was all the right materials which they kindly provided at “show price” in the art tent.  Many a brush, paint and magic ink pencils were purchased and glee filled my body like the holy spirit. 

I watched demonstration after demonstration on how to paint.

Be loose and free…

No problem. I’m always loose and free.

Most artists struggle with this concept and are too tight and too particular…

Not me, your honour. I can’t be arsed with particulars. If a painting takes more than an hour I’m bored.

You have to look for shapes, not details…

Well, hello my very world. I never pay attention to detail. Who needs pernickety detail?  Far too time-consuming.  I’m all about the abstract. Slap it on. Tell everyone it’s a dystopian metropolis. 

The mind will fill in the gaps and tell the story…

Oi, back off artist. I’m the Art Philosopher.

I tried to avoid the painters that were very detailed in their work because that’s just showing off. 

‘You may as well take a photo,’ I murmured bitchily. (That’s envy right there.)

I managed a rather passive-aggressive conversation with a posh lady at a stall who was minding it for someone else. The paintings were glorious and painted on board rather than canvas.

Hmm, I like this board. I think I might get some.

It’s MDF  –  Prime it and paint on top.

Yes. Looks about 4 mm

No, it’s 2 mm

No, I think 4. Minimum 3  ( I felt my inner Boudicca rising. Swords and all) 

It’s 2.

Hmm, no.

I got pulled away by my accompanying others.

That’s the most passive-aggressive conversation I’ve ever heard, they said.

How can it be 2 mm? That’d be paper. Thin card at the most. She’s not even the artist, I whispered aggressively. 

The very next day I went to B&Q to prove my point. No MDF or hardboard was to be found under 6 mm.  However, online at an artist shop I found it.  But she’s still wrong. I know my millimetres. I know what I saw.

I am now primed and ready to go and have an interesting idea on how to incorporate some art in support of my stories.  This could be the next best thing since barefoot painting. (That’s a thing. I witnessed it in real life. I thought it rather clever because it stops you from getting paint all over your shoes. I was told that’s not why they do it. )

In the spirit of artful enlightenment, I had my nails painted cornflower blue instead of my go-to classic red.

I’m not a fan.

Every time I look at my fingers it makes me jump and I feel like I have some sort of disease. 

Still, art is supposed to be uncomfortable, isn’t it?

*Drops paintbrush and wanders off to find whimsy.*