art of watercolor; what is and what is not

We painted two different versions of the same sunset as we listened to the quiet chatter of the other painters. We had just learned the art of watercolors, how to apply different amounts of water on the paper and produce different results, wet on wet, washes, dry on dry, transparent colors, wet on dry, glazes. Sometimes is was strokes of brilliance, sometimes it was literally splashes of color. Too much color.

J exclaimed suddenly, "Guys! Look at my flower!" She displayed her picture on the table. It was good for what it was; we were all novices anyway, but the colors were bright and happy, the flower yellow, the grass green. She grabbed a brush and again started to add water.

"What are you doing?" I asked nervously. I thought that she had just displayed a finished product, and we had been told a common watercolor-er error is overbrushing.

"Maybe it's not a flower anymore!" She laughed and made another brush stroke. "Can this be a sun??"

"It can be whatever you want it to be," I said expertly, yet cautiously, "it's Art." (Though secretly, I had never seen or imagined a green sky.)

"Oh, no!" She soon exclaimed, "I messed it up!"

"NO" we protested, "we like it! Leave it alone.." We really did, too. The shapes had started to melt into one another, making it a sort of abstract art, but they were still a happy yellow and green.

"Don't touch it anymore," I continued, cliche-ing. "Less is more. The colors are good; the placement is good!"

"But what is it?" J looked skeptically at her own watercolor.
"It doesn't have to be anything. It just IS the colors and shapes. Just don't touch it..."

J quietly kept at it. "Maybe it's a lily pad with a flower on it."
The class exchanged glances. "That could be." The teacher commented, "Monet did that."

We painted on. One by one we left as we finished with our paints. Out came mountains, trees, sand, water, air, and the occasional flower. Holding her painting up one last time, she asked as she readied to leave, "Do you think everyone will know it's a cave?"

the art of ending tragically

Another S offered to show us a few "odds and ends" (his words) on the t.v. the other night, so we nestled down on the couch to be cultured. 

Reflecting on the strange and wonderful world of Dr. Horrible and his sing-along blog, I tried to anticipate the ending. I do not make a habit of savoring sad endings, if I can help it. There are only two ways for anything to end: ending well, or ending badly. Some people really like sad things, and feel that happy endings are a cop-out, but the truth is there is a fifty-fifty chance either way.

Now-a-days, tragic endings are equally common. But a person, observing a situation, can instinctively feel the onset of a bad ending and brace herself for it. The worst endings, however, are unexpected, such as Dr. Horrible inadvertently creating the weapon that causes the death of his One True Love. Eventually, he finds solace in becoming a mad scientist. Lucky for him.

But for us, the viewers on the couch, it was a shockingly tragic feeling to watch her die in his arms and then see his wasted, misdirected energies turn evil. We sat in silence as the credits rolled by--and then we erupted into protests. Poor Other S.

Hastily,  he put in a more happy tale of one Dr. Who (there are a lot of Doctors in the Other S's life) who travels space and time pluckily saving the human race from itself and more sinister life forms. It's an entertaining look into British humor and French history. That night's episode featured the famous mistress of one of the King Louies.

Like many of life's experiences, we laughed until we cried. And then we just cried. Tragically, the ending is sad and ironic; Dr. Who misses the heroine's death by minutes and then sails without her into the space sunset. We sat in shocked silence as the credits rolled by.

Turns out that the Other S likes sad endings.

Turns out we won't be watching odds and ends on the tele with him anytime soon.

the art of a mobster’s magnum opus

Today's teachers only participate on the grounds that no one knows their names. Not even their initials.

Protection of Witnesses, anyone?

Also, those who can't do, teach...

One night with The S-Man and his associate Ty "The Guy", L discovered something very vital in all mobster/civilian relations: you won’t teach a mobster new tricks. Mobsters, however, like to be cultured; the art is in showing HIM how to teach YOU.

(I'm reminded of the mob boss from Oscar, Angelo “Snaps” Provolone. While instructing his accountant he comments, “I learn a new word every day. You should expand your vocabulary, Antny, and you wouldn’t be just a book keeper.“)

And so our friendly neighborhood wise guy learned the flute. After a brief explanation of musical theory, The S-Man took the flute parts from L’s hands and re-demonstrated equipment assembly. “This is the Blowy Part,” he stated, putting the head on the body of the flute, “and this is the Tipity Tappers."

"And this part here, Boss,” Ty "The Guy" said excitedly, grabbing the foot, “is the Silencer.”

Nothing like a gangster to put music into perspective.

L internally roller her eyes, and lesson two began. S-Man drew a 5-lined staff, and carefully added the notes, composing his master piece (it turns out mobsters think everything they do is a Magnum Opus.) To increase the difficulty, he drew flags on the notes and made obscure time signatures. L found him to be a hard taskmaster, much like Mozart of old, but surprisingly enough, she now could play all sorts of mobster ballads and drinking songs.

By the end of the night L was a professional. The S-Man is now willing to teach others for a small fee. (He, however, is still working on making a sound.) But don’t tell him that. He’s thinking of changing his name to S “The Flute” Harris…and we, for one, will not be dashing his dreams.

the art of 9 a. m. dance parties

A= "What happens at Apartment 6..."

L= "No comment."

(or is there? you should look...)

No, seriously, look at the comments, but before you go, you should know that there is no shame in dancing crazy in your living room. I believe it should be therapy.

M showed us that there is an art to dance parties. It's no easy task to let loose and release your inhibitions, especially because people have a phobia of dancing in public. And, though dancing in your living room is not usually public, I would say it's a good way to practice anything more complicated than the YMCA.