Yesterday, Megan and I got bitten by the bug of our own- inner-playfulness. A beautifully bright November Day, we couldn’t help but be outside, and we got the urge to finally pull out an art project, which had been mulling around in the back of our minds for several months.
The ingredients: two tubes of acrylic paint, one roll of brown construction paper, eight heavy-duty 3’x4’ sheets of paper doubling as canvases, one paint pan, one paintbrush, and most importantly, my power chair.
We cleared off a flat spot in our driveway, taped down the construction paper, and proceeded to paint my front tire, which then, served as my painting instrument of choice as I rolled, paint-filled, across the naked white.
It was a blast!
All those years of my childhood, when I drove through water puddle after water puddle and drew designs on the pavement with the wet of my tracks at once exploded into life with new Technicolor intent. My goal- a perfectly straight track mark impeccably placed upon the white canvas. I would roll into position, tire poised at the edge of the canvas as Megan slapped fresh paint onto my newly retreaded tires. And once adequately covered, I would grab my joystick and mimicking a Zen master drawing an enso circle, let out a deep breath and drew back crossing the crisp white canvas blindly.
Canvas after canvas, Megan and I repeated the process like two kindergartners enthralled with their own finger-painting. How wonderful it is to be married to someone who can throw culture to the wind, and get down and dirty with some good, clean fun!