Her art teacher said to paint a white egg on a white tablecloth, but she painted a polar bear in a blizzard instead.
Then, the Black Stallion took off at a gallop across the black lava sands, in Haiti, in profile, so just a dab left on her white brush was enough for the arc of his eye, in the first spot where black had dried on the paper. It was nighttime, but cloudy, so fortunately she didn’t need to provide moon or stars.
Georgia O’Keeffe showed her how to fill the whole sheet of paper with a perfect morning glory. Just a tiny bit of black paint was left on that brush, three dots for an ant who had always wondered whether there was nectar inside a morning glory and decided to find out this very day.
It had turned out to be such a bright day that the sun bleached slightly the saffron robe of the bowing monk as he placed floating marigolds in the newly polished brass bowl at the feet of his own, painted-not-real-gold, smiling Buddha. The last drop on the tip of the blue paintbrush was enough for Buddha’s two dimples.
At the first rains of the year, the village children ran and rolled and sang, the tall drums with brown goatskin heads united the descending heavens and the rising earth; the whole world reverberated. One shaman threw his head back as he danced, and his gold tooth took the final drop of paint from her previous brush.
By climbing up into the fully leafed oak, she was able to lose herself completely in the green mass. With her eyes closed she painted a beetle, a warbler, an inchworm. She realized she was hungry, and added sugar peas and broccoli. She peeled the kiwi before she painted it, and after she’d taken a bite, meticulously dotted in the seeds by separating the fibers of the brown brush. Sated, she fell asleep nestled in the green cloud, dreaming of red.
Note: The opening line was a writing suggestion I provided, based on an experience my sister Laura had in high school. So delightful to see how Nancy took it and made it entirely her own.
Zee
