The Joy of Painting

While I may be known to do some lite busking in Harvard Square or record a super campy cover of Sledgehammer with my friend Dave, let’s just say I didn’t quite inherit the artistic skills that Ellen did.

Let’s rewind and start from the beginning of this nightmare…

When I was about 8, my cousin convinced me that it would be a great idea to visit a place known as the Plaster Funhouse. You choose from shelves lined with plaster statues of elephants, clown faces and historical figures. We each picked a Nefertiti bust. Then you sit and paint for hours, which somehow feels like days. Then you get that thing glazed, give it to your parents and forget about it until years later when you make a visit home from college and you find it discarded in the wood pile out back. You decide to take it with you when you move to Boston because you see the beauty in it, even when other people just want to set it on fire.

It wasn’t until I’d had Titi out on a shelf for a few months guarding the door to the bathroom that my friend pointed out I had exercised my artistic license and put earrings on her. So what? She also pointed out that at the age of 8, I didn’t know much about Egyptian skin tones– just Irish ones. A fair assessment.

Titi is always watching, always judging.

Titi is always watching, always judging.


Then there was the stint where I was a storyboard artist for Hollywood blockbusters like this one I did for Twilight:



As I matured, I honed my craft and refused to draw anything except cats and Triceratops that looked a little bit like cats. Here’s one that has been turned into a magnet on our fridge:

The tail and the painted toenails were an afterthought.

The tail and the painted toenails were an afterthought.


No one ever thought I’d make it past the cat/Triceratops era until last Tuesday when some coworkers introduced me to The Paint Bar. The best description I can give is that it’s just like the Plaster Funhouse but with booze. We signed up for the “Fall Dock At Sunset.” I fully expected mine to turn out more like a “Fall Cat At Sunset” and I’m sure you had that very same thought. The instructor of the class walks everyone through each baby step and tells you critical things like where to put blue. Turns out, I am all right at drinking wine and painting rocks so let’s add it to my expanding repertoire.

Fall Dock At Sunset

I am my generation’s Bob Ross.




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