If I could paint I would draw that grandmother riding a motorcycle with a terrier lying perpendicular to the footboard. If I could paint I would show how the red orange miniature maple leaves gently cross the grey stone. If I could paint I would show how mellow the scattered lights of the apartment buildings are when I walk home from the subway station on the elevated road. If I could paint … a million scenes would come to light exactly the way I wanted them to.
I used to think photographs were the best way to capture a moment. But I didn’t always want to intrude on other people’s privacy by raising the lens. My friends and I don’t like creepy men taking pictures of us; why should we think other people appreciate our cameras? Plus there wasn’t always enough time to uncap the lens.
Words are better, because they require powers of observation and translation to the page. No matter how short the glimpse may be, a trained eye will pick up the defining details in an instant. But reading overly descriptive paragraphs is dull.
So I would like to paint. Drawing would help, but painting has colors, shades and textures, a language requiring no translation. Every language, every mode, is a means of expression. I may have conquered writing, photography, swimming and the violin as ways to release my inner self, but I want something more.
Just like I wish I could touch a piano and magically have all the sounds in my head come out through my hands, I wish touching a brush would bring out all the scenes I’ve stored in my head.
If only I could paint.