At present, as soon as I clear the remnants of our morning breakfast from the dinning table, I gather the paints, and brushes trying to draw bushes as they look in reality. My attempts looks like dabs of paint splattered on the canvas for no reason at all, and too unlike the real ones. Sometimes they do give an illusion, but at other times it’s a disappointment.
My eagerness evaporates in no time, and I give up to attend to washing dishes which lie in the sink waiting for my attention. Being a homemaker is a thankless job, in which you keep on doing repetitive work, and no one gives you any credit for it.
The next day I again return to my paints, and brushes. I soldier on ….. maybe someday I get better at it. A glimmer of hope leads me on.
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In the years before I discovered embroidery, and needlepoint, I wanted a few oil paints to hang on the bare walls of our home. Oil paintings were expensive, and in those days we were always short of money.
I got my wish when we came across a struggling artist who was selling his work. I chose two for our home. One was of a rider on his horse with the setting sun in the background, and the second was a lovely scene of water, and trees. The first one was hanged in our living area, and it went well with the color of our sofas, curtains and carpet. The second oil painting was a combination of blues and greens. It complemented our bedroom.
A few years later my own needlework adorned the walls. Those paintings we had, needed their old frames to be removed. I had not liked their frames from the beginning. I wanted them reframed. I put them away, and then forgot them.
One day I was wading through our old paraphernalia put away, I discovered them again. I had to throw them, because un beknowest to me they had been damaged by termites, and in no way the damage could be undone.
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