Three Is A Crowd?

I hunkered down in our place in Arizona in early January.  The desert winter air cool and crisp and the skies azure blue.  Big Rich drove back to LA leaving me on my own with no distractions.   I was giving myself three days, dusk to dawn, to create a new painting. The evening before Day One, I started a fire to take the edge off the cool air, made a cup of tea and curled up on the couch with my favorite cozy blanket.  I stared at length at the flames in the fireplace, dancing and flittering about, mirroring the excited energy in my head.   I was really doing this! It was going to happen come hell or high water and at the end of Day Three I would “drop the paintbrush” and the first project would be done.  I would complete the first step in my goal to produce twelve paintings in 2019.   No more self-limiting thoughts. No more excuses for not finishing, such as, “Oh, I still have to add more detail.  Oh, it needs more depth.  Oh, the foreground isn’t quite finished”.  I knew only too well notions such as these would serve as an escape route, a crutch to lean upon, in not committing to a final product.

Deliberately not wanting to start worrying too much about things before hand, I hadn’t given much thought to WHAT I would paint; I only knew I WOULD paint something.  I was going to decide the night before, commit to it, and get up the next day and PAINT!   I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. The crackling of the fire played a soothing melody to my thoughts which kept returning to the solace expansive beauty of the Grand Canyon.  Why not? We have visited the Grand Canyon numerous times. The most recent visit was an especially vivid memory where the majesty of grandeur, depth and color deeply touched my soul. 

I tossed and turned in bed with visions of the Grand Canyon swirling about. Then I did something I wished I hadn’t.  I got up and walked into the living room and sat down in the big recliner chair. I picked up my phone which was charging nearby.  I googled: How to paint the Grand Canyon.  I have no formal training so surely I needed some tips.  The first sentence of the article I read declared, “The Grand Canyon is one of the most difficult landscapes to paint and is not something to be attempted by beginning painters.  Even experts struggle…”

I didn’t get much sleep, but I’d made the commitment and decided this beginner was going to give it a go in spite of the odds. Surprisingly, my muse was silent throughout the night not giving any hint of her presence or interest in my choice.  However, when I woke up, there she was, bright eyed and bushy tailed.  She proclaimed, “Yes, girl, we’ve got this! Remember, the point is to put the brush to canvas and just PAINT.  So let’s get started”.

 My muse caricature resembles a little ethereal fairylike creature, a cross between the Disney characters Tinkerbell and Ariel. Sometimes feisty and bold, other times pensive and shy. The connection to Ariel will make more sense as you continue to read.

My muse and I set the groundwork, establishing a friendly working atmosphere.  I made my morning coffee and set up my painting station. I chose the kitchen for the studio as the early morning light flooded the room like a soft, warm blanket.  After exchanging a few more pleasantries we got down to business.

  “We are going to paint the freaking GRAND CANYON!” I exclaimed like a school girl.

 “Yes, we are!” reaffirmed my muse. “We can do this!! I’m feeling a lot of love for the peachy purple tones we saw in the canyon in early December.  Remember the sunset that day? It flooded the canyon with warm peach and orange hues flowing upward from darker reds and purples.”

 “Oh yesss!  Sooo beautiful. I think I know what you mean!” 

As I picked up the first tube of paint, a shadow darkened the room and a voice bellowed, “WWAAAAIIIITTTT a minute…..just HOLLLD on a minute…..what the hell do you two think you are doing???”    

Startled, I dropped the paint tube on the counter.  It bounced once and then hit the floor and rolled under the table.  I knew exactly who had shown up, uninvited, unannounced and most importantly not welcomed.

I picked up the paint tube, glanced over my shoulder and growled, “Ursula, what are you doing here?  Get out of here right now!”

Ursula, as you may have already guessed, is my inner critic.  She received the name Ursula years ago.  My daughter loved watching the Little Mermaid movie and played it over and over.  The story, the songs and the characters were well established in our home. When I first saw Ursula in the movie and when I heard that voice, I knew I had a name and a visual for my inner critic.  And, of course, Ariel became the caricature inspiration (along with Tinkerbell) for my muse.

  “Well, well, well…. you two thought you could have this little party and not invite ME??  You thought you could get away with freely painting the Grand Canyon without ME knowing?  Without ME giving you my highly regarded, no holds barred, in your face, cold hard opinion?” 

She tapped one of her tentacles square on the top of my head. 

TAP! TAP! TAP!

 “Yes, we ARE going to paint the Grand Canyon,” my muse replied.  She stood up straight, shoulders square; arms crossed in front, and chin firmly set.

The room began to rumble and shake as Ursula belted out a guttural booming laugh, to the point she was gasping for air.

My muse, shrinking in size, voice shaking responded, “Maybe she’s right.  The Grand Canyon is no match for us.”

 “ Oh no….don’t you disappear on me now!” I chastised, pointing my finger at her. “You just got here! We have the paints and brushes set up, the newspaper is all spread out…..NO! NO! NO! Don’t you cower away from this now!”

Ursula pulled up a chair and lit a cigarette.   After a big long drag she blew the smoke directly in my face. She mocked my muse. “She doesn’t know anything about painting the Grand Canyon.  She is a FAKE, an IMPOSTER!”   She took another drag and again puffed smoke in my face.

“Ursula, get lost!!” I demanded. “Get your sorry ass out of my kitchen!!!”

Usuala chuckled, swirling her tentacles in front of my face. “Not happening, girlfriend.”  She took another drag, this time blowing the smoke over my head with a sarcastic smirk.

My muse puffed up her little chest, looked Ursula square in the face, and demanded, “I am a FAKE?  Really?  Who painted the collection of paintings sitting in the den? Hmmm….WHO was that?”

Ursula waved her tentacles above her head in complete disregard and quipped, “Pfffffttttt!!  As if!!”

 Holding my head in my hands, I shouted, “Both of you STOP!!  Just STOOOPPP!!!”

My muse stated, “I am not going anywhere.”

Ursula sniggered. “Well, kiddos, I am definitely NOT going anywhere.”

“Okay….Okay!” I surrendered. “We can all occupy the same space.  Let’s just agree to start working on the painting.”

Both my muse and Ursula give their heads a single nod.

So, we began to paint.  The dialogue of banter and bickering continued throughout each day.  The angel muse on one shoulder, the devil Ursula on the other. Each chirping in one ear like the producers of a reality show.  Eventually, we all agreed to disagree even reaching magical moments where we all agreed things were working.   We came up with a truce.  We could ALL occupy the same creative space. We agreed that I would be the driver of the bus, the other two could occupy any seat they wished, but neither of them would be allowed to be the driver of the bus as long as I was present.  For, if my muse were to be the driver, she might never reach a final destination; we’d be on an exploration, flitting about in a haze of sensory overload accomplishing little.  If Ursula were to drive the bus, she could easily and deliberately crash the bus on demand leaving a swath of regret, shame, guilt and destruction.

There we were the three of us, on the Barbie Creation Bus.  The ride took many twists and turns, a few flat tires, a couple of times running out of gas, but on sundown of Day Three the paints and brushes were put away and we declared the project finished.  We had met the terms of the three day contract.

The next morning, I woke up and walked into the kitchen.  The painting caught me off guard.  The colors seemed to blend together more complementary and softly than I had expected capturing depth and perspective.  It resembled the Grand Canyon.  However, I caught myself starting to think, “Maybe if I added a bit more…..” I cut off the thought taking note of the silence in the room.  Eerily, the kitchen was very quiet.  I looked around, and looked again.  They were gone, my muse and Ursula, nowhere to be found.  A huge smile grew across my face.  I started to chuckle thinking maybe they hijacked the bus and were off on their own adventure.  This was fine by me, I am the registered owner of the bus and when I summon its return we all three will reconvene next month to plan and create painting number two of 2019.