“I wish I could do that” he asked.
“Do what?” I replied without skipping a brush stroke on the bin I was painting.
“That – just paint so carefree and with such enjoyment” Buddha replied as he returned to meticulously analysing the progress of his panting, often from various angles and distances.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I held a paint brush, while Buddha, as a recognised artist, was commissioned by the government to paint 30 bins as part of an environmental initiative. With this difference, like black and white paint dripping before me, came polarised mentalities. With no expectations from myself or others, every stroke was a success, and a step in creative direction that was all new territory.
Next to me, Buddha had been painting for 15 hours the day before, and on a regular basis for 15 years or more before that. Even with this difference, in that moment, there was a mutual trade in envies. He desired my disconnection, I admired his dedication.
Mutual, but far from fair. I reminded him that somewhere he would be keeping a memory of the first time he also attempted painting. The bridge was burnt once he crossed the finish line to the awaiting crowd who has since crowned him a ‘painter’.
Enough applications of ‘artistic’ or any other characteristic, and you’ll eventually have a permanent shade to your character. If my writing is as unclear as my painting – I’m implying that with enough time and practice, I would be equally as demanding of myself.
Oscar Wilde says – “Every man kills the thing he loves”
This statement is certainly open to debate, as there are many accomplished & talented individuals who still find enjoyment in their particular craft.
At the least, I think I’ll remember this next time I find myself wishing I was as talented as ‘that person’, and just appreciate my developing talent as a period of exploration and enjoyment without the worry of anything else.
Whatever it is you do, kill it slowly.
