Updated: Apr 26
I’m out of canvas boards. I think to myself.
Then follows a long, elaborate planning process. If I leave work by 6, I can rush to the art store on the way back, and still be home on time. The entire day is spent in a jittery excitement of getting my hands on those damn canvases.
It’s 6:05. I’m at the art store. Soaking in the beauty of my surroundings. I look at the canvases, and if someone observed closely, they would see me drooling. I resist picking up the largest one available, and modestly pick up what I had come for. Eight by tens. Yup, those are the ones I need. How many, you ask? As many as they’ve got in the store.
And then as I casually walk towards the billing counter, I can’t help but notice (because I’m seeking it out) the paint aisle. Didn’t I use up all my white paint!? I don’t recollect, but decide that I have, and pick up a tube. What about texture white? Yup, picked a jar. Oooh would you look at that beautiful turquoise? In the shopping basket.
As I decide that it’s time to leave, I remember that there are only a few blank pages in my travel sketchbook. Walking towards the sketchbook aisle is like opening a can of worms. I know what’s gonna happen, and yet I can’t resist it. Gotta pick up a tiny sketchbook that can fit into all of my purses. So, what do I do? I pick up an A3 watercolour block. Perfect. Oh would you look at that charcoal!? I think to myself, having never used charcoal successfully. I will now. Of course I will.
Three brushes, a painting palette and a set of pastels later, there I am, standing at the billing counter. My eyes glace at a beautiful display of writing pencils. These would be a perfect addition to the seven hundred pencils I already have. Forty five minutes later, I walk out with my bags heavier, my wallet lighter, and I’m smiling. Perfect.