Buried Treasure
I've been putting off the job for months. The mere thought of cleaning the basement has been overwhelming. Besides the normal clutter, the basement has been crammed full of my teaching supplies, as well as a few boxes of dishes and glassware that belonged to Aunt Ellen. Our basement has been so crowded with extra stuff that we've had a hard time putting things where they belong, so it's become more convenient to just drop things on the closest available surface.
But now, I can't put it off any longer. So, for the last few days, with time off for Thanksgiving, Victoria and I have been working in the basement for a couple of hours a day. So far, we have bagged up an overflowing barrel full of old clothes for Goodwill, and we've packed another huge bag of worn towels to donate to the Humane Society. I've found a winter coat and snow boots that will fit Tobin, and Victoria has saved a few "quality items" for future use, when she has a home of her own.
We've vacuumed the cobwebs out of the windows. I glued my wooden clothes drying rack back together, so I can use it without frustration. Then, we started on the art and craft supplies.
When Erin and Meagan were little, I taught children's art classes at the West Nebraska Art Center and in several rural elementary schools. By the time Erin was in the third grade, I was coaching a group of kids who prepared elaborate props, scenery, and costumes for Odyssey of the Mind competitions. So, over the years, we have accumulated a plethora of paint and brushes, clay, beads, pompoms, ribbon, old costume jewelry, fabric, and just plain junk that we might be able to use to make something someday. After twenty-some years, everything that used to be neatly organized was in complete disarray.
I was surprised to find a flower press, once used to preserve wild flowers, and a couple of screens that Bill had made for me to use when making homemade paper. And, nestled in that same stack, I found a white plastic bag containing two painted canvases. I hadn't looked at them in years, but when I pulled them out of the bag, I was transported back to that time, way back when Meagan was about three, when I took an acrylic painting class.
Erin was in school all day then, but Meagan still took naps every afternoon, so we arrived a few minutes early for each class to allow a little time to roll out Meagan's sleeping bag in an adjacent storeroom, and read a quick story before the class began. Then, while Meagan napped, I joined a group of about ten other aspiring artists, taught by a successful local artist. We learned how to mix and blend colors, add appropriate shadows, and paint the right kinds of proportions. The class helped me immensely with my own teaching, both then and later.
When I found those two canvases, tucked away in a basement cupboard, it was kind of like finding buried treasure. The first canvas I pulled out of the bag depicted a very bad, unfinished still life, with a purple pitcher and a crystal goblet, sitting against a garish, maroon background. I nearly shuddered when I looked at that inferior attempt at still life, so I put it aside quickly, and pulled out the second canvas.
It was an autumn landscape of an old barn and silo, with an awful purple roof. What was with all that purple, anyway?? I remembered being so dissatisfied with that painting, because the roof color was all wrong, and I was probably too timid to ask the instructor for suggestions on how to fix it. The sky was a little too blue, but the rest of the painting was better than I remembered. The tree and foliage were pretty amazing for an inexperienced painter, if I do say so myself.
As Victoria and I continued to work in the basement, cleaning out cupboards and reorganizing art supplies, I couldn't help but think of that long-ago art class and the resulting paintings I had found on the cupboard shelf. And, as I worked, I began to wonder if I could fix that landscape painting. The intervening years have brought some added experiences with paint, and I was pretty sure that, with a minimum of effort, I could make the painting better.
So, after supper, while Bill and Levi were watching a Star Trek movie in the family room, I arranged my easel and painting supplies on the kitchen table, and set out to fix the painting. After dry brushing some gray paint over the offending purple roof and onto the most unpleasant, purple parts of the silo, I added some violet-tinged, wispy clouds to tone down the blue, blue sky, and painted a solitary crow, soaring above the dilapidated barn. And, just like that, a twenty-seven year old painting was transformed from trash to a treasured memory.
I guess I'll need to find a suitable frame, and decide where to hang the refurbished landscape.
But, in the meantime, Victoria and I will tackle the rest of the boxes still strewn around the basement. Some of the books and teaching supplies will be doled out to various children and grandchildren. The dishes will reside in a basement cupboard until Victoria needs them, or until another daughter or niece decides she wants some of them. The worst of the junk will be thrown out, and some items will be recycled or given to charity. A few odds and ends will be stored in one of my newly cleaned cupboards.
And, who knows, maybe I'll find another treasure or two, buried down there in the midst of the basement clutter.
But now, I can't put it off any longer. So, for the last few days, with time off for Thanksgiving, Victoria and I have been working in the basement for a couple of hours a day. So far, we have bagged up an overflowing barrel full of old clothes for Goodwill, and we've packed another huge bag of worn towels to donate to the Humane Society. I've found a winter coat and snow boots that will fit Tobin, and Victoria has saved a few "quality items" for future use, when she has a home of her own.
We've vacuumed the cobwebs out of the windows. I glued my wooden clothes drying rack back together, so I can use it without frustration. Then, we started on the art and craft supplies.
When Erin and Meagan were little, I taught children's art classes at the West Nebraska Art Center and in several rural elementary schools. By the time Erin was in the third grade, I was coaching a group of kids who prepared elaborate props, scenery, and costumes for Odyssey of the Mind competitions. So, over the years, we have accumulated a plethora of paint and brushes, clay, beads, pompoms, ribbon, old costume jewelry, fabric, and just plain junk that we might be able to use to make something someday. After twenty-some years, everything that used to be neatly organized was in complete disarray.
I was surprised to find a flower press, once used to preserve wild flowers, and a couple of screens that Bill had made for me to use when making homemade paper. And, nestled in that same stack, I found a white plastic bag containing two painted canvases. I hadn't looked at them in years, but when I pulled them out of the bag, I was transported back to that time, way back when Meagan was about three, when I took an acrylic painting class.
Erin was in school all day then, but Meagan still took naps every afternoon, so we arrived a few minutes early for each class to allow a little time to roll out Meagan's sleeping bag in an adjacent storeroom, and read a quick story before the class began. Then, while Meagan napped, I joined a group of about ten other aspiring artists, taught by a successful local artist. We learned how to mix and blend colors, add appropriate shadows, and paint the right kinds of proportions. The class helped me immensely with my own teaching, both then and later.
When I found those two canvases, tucked away in a basement cupboard, it was kind of like finding buried treasure. The first canvas I pulled out of the bag depicted a very bad, unfinished still life, with a purple pitcher and a crystal goblet, sitting against a garish, maroon background. I nearly shuddered when I looked at that inferior attempt at still life, so I put it aside quickly, and pulled out the second canvas.
It was an autumn landscape of an old barn and silo, with an awful purple roof. What was with all that purple, anyway?? I remembered being so dissatisfied with that painting, because the roof color was all wrong, and I was probably too timid to ask the instructor for suggestions on how to fix it. The sky was a little too blue, but the rest of the painting was better than I remembered. The tree and foliage were pretty amazing for an inexperienced painter, if I do say so myself.
As Victoria and I continued to work in the basement, cleaning out cupboards and reorganizing art supplies, I couldn't help but think of that long-ago art class and the resulting paintings I had found on the cupboard shelf. And, as I worked, I began to wonder if I could fix that landscape painting. The intervening years have brought some added experiences with paint, and I was pretty sure that, with a minimum of effort, I could make the painting better.
So, after supper, while Bill and Levi were watching a Star Trek movie in the family room, I arranged my easel and painting supplies on the kitchen table, and set out to fix the painting. After dry brushing some gray paint over the offending purple roof and onto the most unpleasant, purple parts of the silo, I added some violet-tinged, wispy clouds to tone down the blue, blue sky, and painted a solitary crow, soaring above the dilapidated barn. And, just like that, a twenty-seven year old painting was transformed from trash to a treasured memory.
But, in the meantime, Victoria and I will tackle the rest of the boxes still strewn around the basement. Some of the books and teaching supplies will be doled out to various children and grandchildren. The dishes will reside in a basement cupboard until Victoria needs them, or until another daughter or niece decides she wants some of them. The worst of the junk will be thrown out, and some items will be recycled or given to charity. A few odds and ends will be stored in one of my newly cleaned cupboards.
And, who knows, maybe I'll find another treasure or two, buried down there in the midst of the basement clutter.
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