First Layer: The Base Coat
A blank, white canvas, untouched and untainted –perfect. And yet, when one looks closely, they begin to see the imperfections, the bumps made by the coarse fabric, the discoloration on the stretched canvas sheet, and that it is in fact a creamy yellowish colour rather than a pure white.
We are all painters, artists of our own kind.
We all have the colours in front of us and we all hold the paintbrush to the canvas; we possess the ability to determine the end result of our paintings.
So, the question that remains is: What picture will you choose to create?
The base coat of my painting was the one that strangers got to see –one solid colour, blank and boring. It was the first layer to taint my plain, already imperfect canvas. But, this coating was necessary to create contrast with the rest of the piece. It was the one I had created in order to feel safe and accepted in this temporary world I called home. I embraced it, lived by it, and sometimes, I would become entirely ruled by it.
It defined the way I walked on the street: chin up, shoulders squared, and sporting a defiant glare. My dark brown, almost black eyes would bore into everyone, just daring anyone to stand in my way. This layer dictated the way I came off to acquaintances and strangers: rather frigid, a little quirky, and entirely commanding.
My base coat was the thick, black, and opaque layer of acrylic paint. It was my front and my heavy first wall of defence against letting people in; my strongest shield against hurt.
Those who managed to unlock the doors to my studio and stand before my still veiled painting became my trusted friends, family, and people I cared about. They’re also the ones whom I would eventually lift the veil for to reveal my painting.
Second Layer: The Second Coat
The second layer consisted of the general layout and it was the layer that began shaping the course of the painting. It displayed the beginnings of a completed picture.
This layer held multiple different colours, the fine sweeping lines, and the countless shades of vibrancy. My friend and family saw a side of me that no acquaintance nor stranger would ever see. They saw the cheerful, sarcastic, and pessimistic side of me. They knew me during my ups and downs, while I was depressed, hyperactive, happy, or sad. These closer observers of my painting had managed to stick around and see as more of my picture took shape.
The second coating was my mainframe and was also the furthest most people would see.
I loved this layer and yet I hated it. But that thought only made me wonder; how could I hate myself? This was supposed to be me, and according to all the books and movies, I was supposed to be comfortable in my own skin.
Maybe I disliked this coat because I knew it was all fake. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that I was deceiving everyone. One thing was for sure, my loved ones knew some of my secrets but they were still lacking the whole picture.
Unfortunately, or maybe it was not unfortunate, that most were content with this semi-complete picture. They had seen enough to keep their curiosity satisfied or maybe it was because I had been keeping within their expectations thus far and they didn’t want to ruin that perception of me. But perhaps it was not their fault and I was just blaming it on them. Perhaps, they couldn’t see any more of my piece because I didn’t let them. Maybe I was shutting them out, shrouding what remained to be seem, blocking their view of my work of art.
This is where you come into my story. You saw that I was still hidden behind one last layer. So, true to your persistent and stubborn nature that used to cause most of our arguments, you kept scanning my painting for more details. You kept nudging me aside to devour more of my picture.
I had hidden my topcoat from this world, cached amongst the swirl of pretty colours and the tangle of interconnected lines. For some strange reason, you knew this.
And that absolutely terrified me.
Final Layer: The Top Coat
The final layer was probably the most important coating. It was the layer that held all the details. See, without this part, a picture would seem a bit off. One would be able to get the gist of the piece but they would also get the impression that the painting was missing something. One had to be patient and observant to see this layer.
This part was rare and precious. To reveal it was frightening and the biggest moment of anyone’s life. It was always the scariest part to reveal in fear of being judged and having the completed picture viewed as imperfect or damaged.
I myself have only ever let one person see my completed picture, and that person was you.
You had previously seen past all my coats of paint and you knew that my picture was not quite complete. So, you pushed a little more, you dug a little deeper, and you urged for me to finish off my painting. Finally, after a lot of coaxing, I did. I finished for you the little missing strokes within the complex expanse of my picture, tossed the covering away completely and stepped aside.
As I awaited tensely for your reaction, I wondered what in the world I was doing, baring my soul like that. I worried and conjured up every single worst case scenario and pondered about my sanity after this life changing moment. Thankfully, you didn’t leave me hanging and unsatisfied. In fact, you grew even closer to me. The best part was that you loved every last bit. You accepted each mistake and blemish, every brush stroke and each little bump of paint.
So, it’s safe to say that when you left, I was utterly destroyed. Upon your unexpected departure, you stole from me my heart, you shredded it into pieces and proceeded to toss the fragments carelessly into the wind.
For the longest time after that, I put down my brush and moped. I cursed the cruel world and spent long nights crying for you. Shadows crept into my life, clouds covered the brilliant sun and my world was seen in grey tones.
In hindsight, that was probably the best thing that ever happened to me because I came to realize one thing: A single event, one destructive moment doesn’t –and certainly shouldn’t –destroy my whole painting. I just needed to pick up my brush again and keep on creating. Our separation may have seemed like centuries but in reality, was nothing in the span of my life.
I realize now that no one will ever truly see the completed picture, not even me. See, I’ll be forever adding to it and taking away from it, blending and shading as my story progresses. My wonderful piece of art is more like a shifting kaleidoscope where the shapes are constantly shifting and forever changing their already complex form. We will all see shard, fragments of a completed piece. I will hold most of those fragments, but people will hold their own pieces of my painting.
While I paint, some will stick around for a few strokes while others will paint with me for longer and claim a whole patch of colour. The strangers, friends, my family, and lovers will hold onto the parts where our individual paintings merged and swirled together. Together, we will form one huge web of pictures, each as unique and as precious as the next.
Ribbons of colour will dance and twirl across the once blank canvass as I steadily run out of paint. And as the last stroke brushes gently against the canvas, I’m done and so is my painting. My story. My life.
A blank, white canvas, untouched and untainted –perfect. And yet, when one looks closely, they begin to see the imperfections, the bumps made by the coarse fabric, the discoloration on the stretched canvas sheet, and that it is in fact a creamy yellowish colour rather than a pure white.
We are all painters, artists of our own kind.
We all have the colours in front of us and we all hold the paintbrush to the canvas; we possess the ability to determine the end result of our paintings.
So, the question that remains is: What picture will you choose to create?
The base coat of my painting was the one that strangers got to see –one solid colour, blank and boring. It was the first layer to taint my plain, already imperfect canvas. But, this coating was necessary to create contrast with the rest of the piece. It was the one I had created in order to feel safe and accepted in this temporary world I called home. I embraced it, lived by it, and sometimes, I would become entirely ruled by it.
It defined the way I walked on the street: chin up, shoulders squared, and sporting a defiant glare. My dark brown, almost black eyes would bore into everyone, just daring anyone to stand in my way. This layer dictated the way I came off to acquaintances and strangers: rather frigid, a little quirky, and entirely commanding.
My base coat was the thick, black, and opaque layer of acrylic paint. It was my front and my heavy first wall of defence against letting people in; my strongest shield against hurt.
Those who managed to unlock the doors to my studio and stand before my still veiled painting became my trusted friends, family, and people I cared about. They’re also the ones whom I would eventually lift the veil for to reveal my painting.
Second Layer: The Second Coat
The second layer consisted of the general layout and it was the layer that began shaping the course of the painting. It displayed the beginnings of a completed picture.
This layer held multiple different colours, the fine sweeping lines, and the countless shades of vibrancy. My friend and family saw a side of me that no acquaintance nor stranger would ever see. They saw the cheerful, sarcastic, and pessimistic side of me. They knew me during my ups and downs, while I was depressed, hyperactive, happy, or sad. These closer observers of my painting had managed to stick around and see as more of my picture took shape.
The second coating was my mainframe and was also the furthest most people would see.
I loved this layer and yet I hated it. But that thought only made me wonder; how could I hate myself? This was supposed to be me, and according to all the books and movies, I was supposed to be comfortable in my own skin.
Maybe I disliked this coat because I knew it was all fake. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that I was deceiving everyone. One thing was for sure, my loved ones knew some of my secrets but they were still lacking the whole picture.
Unfortunately, or maybe it was not unfortunate, that most were content with this semi-complete picture. They had seen enough to keep their curiosity satisfied or maybe it was because I had been keeping within their expectations thus far and they didn’t want to ruin that perception of me. But perhaps it was not their fault and I was just blaming it on them. Perhaps, they couldn’t see any more of my piece because I didn’t let them. Maybe I was shutting them out, shrouding what remained to be seem, blocking their view of my work of art.
This is where you come into my story. You saw that I was still hidden behind one last layer. So, true to your persistent and stubborn nature that used to cause most of our arguments, you kept scanning my painting for more details. You kept nudging me aside to devour more of my picture.
I had hidden my topcoat from this world, cached amongst the swirl of pretty colours and the tangle of interconnected lines. For some strange reason, you knew this.
And that absolutely terrified me.
Final Layer: The Top Coat
The final layer was probably the most important coating. It was the layer that held all the details. See, without this part, a picture would seem a bit off. One would be able to get the gist of the piece but they would also get the impression that the painting was missing something. One had to be patient and observant to see this layer.
This part was rare and precious. To reveal it was frightening and the biggest moment of anyone’s life. It was always the scariest part to reveal in fear of being judged and having the completed picture viewed as imperfect or damaged.
I myself have only ever let one person see my completed picture, and that person was you.
You had previously seen past all my coats of paint and you knew that my picture was not quite complete. So, you pushed a little more, you dug a little deeper, and you urged for me to finish off my painting. Finally, after a lot of coaxing, I did. I finished for you the little missing strokes within the complex expanse of my picture, tossed the covering away completely and stepped aside.
As I awaited tensely for your reaction, I wondered what in the world I was doing, baring my soul like that. I worried and conjured up every single worst case scenario and pondered about my sanity after this life changing moment. Thankfully, you didn’t leave me hanging and unsatisfied. In fact, you grew even closer to me. The best part was that you loved every last bit. You accepted each mistake and blemish, every brush stroke and each little bump of paint.
So, it’s safe to say that when you left, I was utterly destroyed. Upon your unexpected departure, you stole from me my heart, you shredded it into pieces and proceeded to toss the fragments carelessly into the wind.
For the longest time after that, I put down my brush and moped. I cursed the cruel world and spent long nights crying for you. Shadows crept into my life, clouds covered the brilliant sun and my world was seen in grey tones.
In hindsight, that was probably the best thing that ever happened to me because I came to realize one thing: A single event, one destructive moment doesn’t –and certainly shouldn’t –destroy my whole painting. I just needed to pick up my brush again and keep on creating. Our separation may have seemed like centuries but in reality, was nothing in the span of my life.
I realize now that no one will ever truly see the completed picture, not even me. See, I’ll be forever adding to it and taking away from it, blending and shading as my story progresses. My wonderful piece of art is more like a shifting kaleidoscope where the shapes are constantly shifting and forever changing their already complex form. We will all see shard, fragments of a completed piece. I will hold most of those fragments, but people will hold their own pieces of my painting.
While I paint, some will stick around for a few strokes while others will paint with me for longer and claim a whole patch of colour. The strangers, friends, my family, and lovers will hold onto the parts where our individual paintings merged and swirled together. Together, we will form one huge web of pictures, each as unique and as precious as the next.
Ribbons of colour will dance and twirl across the once blank canvass as I steadily run out of paint. And as the last stroke brushes gently against the canvas, I’m done and so is my painting. My story. My life.