Paint on Paper

Oak + Fort blouse (c/o) (similar)
Zara jeans (similar)
Mango mules
Anthropologie hair clip (similar)
Mejuri ring (c/o) (similar)
Daisy London earrings (c/o)
Location: Osborne Village – Winnipeg, Manitoba

There is something undeniably satisfying about putting paint on paper. Or canvas, although I mostly paint on paper, for the sake of simplicity. It’s an act I’ve craved for as long as I can remember – I asked for my first paint set when I was four, and my parents delivered a small yellow box of watercolours that I used for years afterwards.

I’m an ambivert, I think – a term that I learned only recently. Growing up, I thought of myself as introverted because I always had my nose in a book. But in adulthood, I’ve discovered that I am the polar opposite of shy, one of the hallmarks of introversion. People drive me totally crazy, but I love to be around them, anyway. (But not all of them, because I’m not a true extrovert, either. I’m selective about my company.)

At work, I am known as chatty and vocal – if I don’t have something to say, it’s almost guaranteed that no one does. (And if I’ve emailed you once, lucky you – we are now work friends!) My girlfriends know all too well my love of the never-ending wine chat – I’m never at a loss for words; there is always some new topic that intrigues me that I want to discuss. (Although, admittedly, I do sometimes need snack breaks during these marathon sessions, which can go on for four to six hours if I’m not reigned in.) Despite that, I am totally comfortable with solitude. It’s never my first choice – I always prefer to be with someone, even if we’re quietly working on separate projects – but it’s something I’m well adapted to.

…so I’m not really introverted or extroverted. The question, I imagine you’re now beginning to ask, is what this all has to do with paint? It’s surprisingly simple. Quarantine means that all the connection that my extroverted self craves is available in limited supply. Wine chats can only be done on video. Quarantine tipped my delicate balance of going out and staying, being social and spending time solo.

Whether I’m by myself or with friends, I crave stimulus. I’m endlessly curious, hungry for new information and experiences. Basically, my brain never shuts off. In the early weeks of quarantine, dealing with that was a struggle. On more than one Saturday afternoon, I read three books and still found myself feeling bored. I need more – so I ordered paint.

It didn’t matter that I hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in almost twenty years. I didn’t want to paint again for any reason other than that I enjoy it… and that when I am mixing colours on my palette, brushing them onto paper, I am fully focused and present in the moment. When I paint, I stop thinking. I’m not tempted to contemplate the long range economic implications of the pandemic. I don’t pause to consider if I really love the Gabin dress from Rouje or if I just love how it looks in their ad campaigns.

Paint allows me, at least temporarily, to just be. And that is an astonishlingly powerful thing.

“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”
– Pablo Picasso

Everyday life right now is like nothing I’ve ever known. But the act of putting paint on paper remains unchanged. It’s been my saving grace, these past nine weeks. So much so, in fact, that I can’t imagine how I ever lived without it.

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