My Sad Oil Painting Experience

I haven't held a brush in five years. I forgot what turpentine smelt like. I forgot how we arranged colors on an artist's palette. However, I was still rather considered a "practicing" artist because my work is still somehow related to my education. I still draw occasionally and do the occasional design. I still read up on art and check out tutorials often. If I'm not painting now, that shouldn't mean that I should stop educating myself about it.

So there lies my mistake. Ever since I graduated I've been giving myself that excuse of I don't really have to paint to work on my skills, I can always just read up on art instead. Deep down I knew that something was wrong.

I'm not going to talk about what suddenly went wrong with my life, or how I suddenly realized I forgot how to paint. The longer I kept away from my canvas, the more difficult it was to get back to it. Like when you haven't talked to a friend in a very long time, when you call them up, you just don't know what to say, and it gets awkward.

I started buying fresh supplies often. I'd arrange them in a box and put them next to my canvas to give it company. Just to make up for the time I spent away.

Last time I looked, my colors had all dried up, and my canvas was still empty. That made my canvas sad, and made me sadder. I decided to just put everything out of sight so I won't have to deal with the guilt of my sad canvas's face looking up at me.

When people think of me as an artist I feel like a hypocrite, because artists paint, and I had abandoned that a long time ago. The only evidence of my past painting experiences were a few paintings hung up against the walls in our flat. That I wasn't even proud of.

So when one of my good friends took a drawing course, came over one day, and insisted that I show her how to oil paint, she really needed me to help her out and was really excited about it, I couldn't turn her down. Out came my dried up supplies, never used palette and brushes, and the white sad face of my canvas. I arranged everything for my friend and laid out some still life for her.

"yalla, paint."

"Show me how"

"At college they didn't show us how, they just told us to paint"

"I don't know how to paint, you have to show me"

At this point I felt bad for her. Her optimism and enthusiasm was too great, If I couldn't help myself with this, I should at least help her. So I grabbed a medium sized brush, dipped it in turpentine and started painting. We took turns painting. Neither of us had fun really. She was too scared, and I was too sorry for myself. I forgot how it was done.

So the result of my sad oil painting experience was this painting that you see. Ugly colors and incomplete objects. But at least my canvas isn't sad anymore.

Fitting In.

Four days have passed since the start of my new job and tomorrow will be the end of the first week. So far I have conquered five out of the six other teachers that hang around in my staff room...

This has been done very simply. The idea is to be totally alert and focused. Keeping the sarcastic humor to a minimum, setting your smiling abilities to the maximum and never, ever complaining.

Lending a helpful hand in what you do best, also helps a lot. Today I helped someone type in the name tags. The day before I was helping with a cardboard display and before that I was drawing miniature stars. Doing that with a smile surely does get to them. Smiles can really be so deceptive.

So today I got an iftar invitation from one of the teachers. I was very flattered. This means my plan is working.

I don't think I'll be able to conquer the sixth teacher though. She seems to be living in a world of her own, keeping distance. So I'll just be happy with the five new friends I made... for now.

Starting next week. I'll be working on conquering the bus.

Childhood friendships

Everyone stresses on how wonderful it is to have friends you've known since you were kids. Not friends that were just there when you were kids. Nope. Friends who you grow up with. Friends who know who was your first crush. When you had your braces. What your favorite cartoon was. The first movie you ever went to. The first time you went out with a boy. They relate when you tell them about a certain teacher. Or a certain book that you were reading back then. They relate to your horrible fashion sense as a teen. And the time you had your hair cut horribly and had to wear bandanas for a whole term. They were there when your parents got divorced. Or when your grandmother died. They know your wardrobe by heart. In fact, because you've been swapping clothes for so long you can't remember what was yours and what was theirs anymore. At some point you all bought the same trainers. Or wore friendship charms that you've split between the two of you. You even made friendship bracelets for each other. They know all your family. And you know theirs. You've travelled together so many times you can't count anymore. The mommies know each other. And the daddies go fishing together. Sometimes you even go out with other members of their family, the cousins or sisters. You have so many pictures together. Heck, you even have a video that shows you right before you started plucking your eyebrows. You recorded a tape together, giggling and gossiping about, some boy, or singing a cheesy Mostafa Amar track. You have no problems hugging each other. You always have something to talk about. And when you don't, the silence isn't awkward. There are too many memories you can't remember which event happened at which summer, or which incident happened with which teacher.

Somewhere back then, I missed having that kind of friend.