When I was in middle school, I remember staying up very late one night listening to music in bed for no good reason apart from wanting to stay up late for bragging purposes. And while sitting on the bed, bored to death, fighting sleep, I started drawing pictures on the wall. For some reason, it didn’t even cross my mind that I would get in trouble (a weird break from my normal “someone will be getting in trouble for this” mindset.) Luckily, I was right in that assumption, and did not get in trouble. I like to think that it’s just because I did such a good job, but it’s probably because my parents are really cool people. So all along the windowsill next to my bed, there were colored pencil flowers. I was really proud of that.
A few years ago, after my youngest sister moved into the room, we took it from sunny yellow walls with flowers along the window, to a vivid teal room with more upscale decor. At the time she was a firm believer in the, stick things everywhere there is a hole and never ever throw anything away, school of interior design. But she also was a believer in me as an artist. She and my mom decided that they’d like me to paint something on the wall. They trusted me, and I was proud of that too. So, I painted this.
And when I was finished I thought, “well I could get used to this whole painting on the walls thing.”
Skip ahead a few years, and here I am again – painting on someone’s wall. On Sunday, my very hip friend Lillian trusted me to paint a tree on her wall. My biggest mural to date! I kind of loved it.
And seriously, I could get used to this whole painting on the walls thing.