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| - To release my inner Picasso, I've ventured to Markham, the recently established city north of the border from Toronto. In three short hours, it was revealed to me that my inner Picasso is actually more like a clueless Pollock.
In honour of the most beautiful woman I know, I've decided to secretly lay an abstract portrait of her on canvas. Secretly, because she is unaware of my appreciation of her beauty. Abstract, not because I'm creative, but that her fashion propensities rendered her often a living piece of art. So, it is not abstract after all, but a realistic painting of someone rather unreal. Long story short; I have no imagination.
Apparently, I was one hour early for their live music session where canvases were offered at a discounted price. The discounted price was offered to me anyway, which was good. I couldn't enjoy my iPod during my painting, which was bad--really bad. Free beverage on sessions such as this, so I ordered some pretentious latte that I can't recite the name of. To me, anything that's coffee with more than one sugar and crème is pretentious. The latte was delicious, and the excellent service made it sweeter. I began laying paint to canvas, and reminded myself that art was in the eye of the beholder, and since I had no plans to publicate my works, I continued to art.
Often, the staff here came to check on my progress. I asked for some advice pertaining to techniques, and they offered me somewhat helpful tips that I more forgotten than anything else. To be fair, this wasn't a learning workshop. Regrettable, because soon the music started.
It would be rude to plug in my ear buds, but bad music is equally offensive, especially when it's live and so adjacent. I am very particular with live music, and the act on was anything but particular. Two women took the stage; one behind her guitar, the other with only the mic. The lady acting as the supporting voice was tolerable, but the guitar girl vocalized chalkboard scratching noises for a full two hours. It didn't matter the amount of free beverages that was offered to her, no elixir on Earth could hydrate that voice. I centred myself, trying to enter any stage of inertia in attempt to phase her out. The one hour head start proved crucial to my focus, as the painting was starting to materialize before me, and I was able to concentrate on the beauty which I so highly bestow. Through this form of meditation that I've newly invented, I was able to render guitar woman as ambient noise. The obligatory applause after each song would throw me out of my trance, and so I was unable to finish my painting.
There is a $5 charge for returning customers wanting to complete their art, so I left my unfinished beloved in the hands of Paintlounge, who offer storage services for unfinished works.
The paint was discount brand, the brushes were economy quality, and a great deal of other painting utensils was DIY parts. Even so--with the guitar woman was taken out of the equation--I had a wonderful time despite coming by myself. The brownies and cupcakes were a bonus, and kept me centred. I guess that's why they call it soul food.
All great tragedies are significant emotions invested towards an unreciprocated source, but still I am determined to complete my work of art, so that at least a part of that beauty is tangible to me. I shall check the calendar for my next visit here. Not my calendar, Paintlounge's calendar, so I'd return on a quieter day.
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