Brush and Roll

My father was a painter. My grandfather was a painter. My great grandfather was a painter. My great great grandfather was a stone mason. Probably because stone was easier to come by than paint in 19th century Italy. In 20th century America paint was mixed by hand with lead, probably causing my great grandfather’s early death. Lead was manufactured into paint until 1978. Probably causing my father and grandfather to move more into management as time went on and myself, more into depression.

“What in the world do you think about while painting all day,” I asked my father shortly after starting work for him. I was yet to discover Zen, although I was practicing it, going beyond the mind. The trick is to go beyond the mind-numbing boredom as well.

It takes many years and many gallons grasshopper, but one day you will learn.  What, I no doubt asked, after many days of my skin covered in multi-colored flecks, my clothes so penetrated they could stand up by themselves, by sinuses burnt out and my brain cells begging for the clarity of a Budweiser in lieu of the turpentine fog.

The first lesson is, don’t paint commercially, or any type of production. I belieive it’s as dangerous as coal mining. The second lesson is practice, like anything else, you’ll get better. However, like the Zen archer who must practice for many years just to mindfully pull back the bow before he’s allowed to have an arrow, you may want to explore slightly quicker methods.

If, like me, you find yourself however one day with many years of painting experience behind you, thanks to your disdain for all other educational and career choices, and you have the opportunity to paint something at a reasonable pace in a non-toxic environment without undue supervisory criticism, you may discover the third lesson.

Painting houses, rooms, closets, or any such ordinary thing, is no different from painting on a canvas. True, the basement floor I just rolled out is never going to go on auction at Sotheby’s, but the difference between painters of pictures and painters of things is only one of proportion. Artists work in the micro realm while painters deal with the macro. Imaginatively extrapolate your wall, window or door to a portion of a Dali or Monet. Eventually you will paint a mountain of consciousness.

What I’m saying, from both Zen and Christian mystic practice, is that the act of painting, or for that matter, cooking, washing dishes, laundry, and so on, holds the key to transcendence.