A gigantic white canvas scares me.  It is full of possiblities but begs me to choose just one.

I’ve been dreaming for years of what I would do when I got the nerve to buy a big blank canvas.  I have a pinboard full of ideas simply for a big blank canvas, but I didn’t have the courage to act on any of them.  Then my neighbor put a 30×40 canvas out at his garage sale.  For just $10 I could own it, still in shrink wrap.  So I bought it.  Step one, Dream.  Here I come.

I leaned it against the wall in my room and refused to hear it mocking me. I wouldn’t make eye contact. I wouldn’t let it see my fear. Dust came.

Cutting Edge Stencils invited me to look through their website and pick something to share with you.  I chose the Feathers All Over pattern.  Step two, Dream.  Here I come.

I set a deadline.  I told myself that if I hated it I could paint over it as many times as I wanted.  The stencil arrived gently rolled in a triangle tube. The stencil was huge and sturdy.   The packaged also included a high quality stencil level, brush and foam roller.  I  had everything I needed to begin.  1…2….3…jump….maybe tomorrow.

The deadline loomed and so did a fever.  I took to my bed and slept amid sweat.  My oldest daughter asked if there were anything she could do.  I offered her the canvas.  She and her friend mixed and striped the base with just one blue. Black made it darker and white took it the other way. I didn’t watch, I just let them do.  “Don’t worry, Kids,” I reassured.  “It wasn’t expensive.  It’s just paint.  If it’s awful we can paint over it.”  I gave them the courage I didn’t have.

They laughed and chatted while they painted and timidly invited me to inspect their work.  I ignored the splotches of paint on the sheet draped carpet.  It was perfect.  No longer white, the canvas didn’t mock.  It invited and encouraged.  I taped up the stencil and poured shimmery gold paint into a tray.  It was runny and old and separated.  I stirred it with the end of the foam roller until it looked uniform in the pan.  Then I paused.  This was too easy.  I took down the stencil and measured and centered.  I had it right the first time.  With new confidence, I filled the roller, then matted it off on a clean part of the tray.  Rolling over the stencil, the paint refused to cover the rich blue ombre.  I rolled again, covered again.  It twinkled and winked.  I overlapped the stencil beside the pattern and rolled again.

Then it was done.  A few minutes of labor and the dream stood before me in it’s flawed glory.  The too thin paint, gone over too many times, stood in the gaps where blue should have been.  My 8 year old son stood beside me and breathed, “It’s beautiful.” I pointed out the ooze and he said, “That’s why it’s beautiful.  The flaws tell you a human being did this.  It adds value.”

While my teenage son was away at Scouts,  I snuck in his room to make ready the surprise.  Armfuls of smelly socks and dirty dishes moved to appropriate wash stations. New sheets, fluffed up feather pillows, dusting spray and a vacuum cleaner, removed the stress of the school year.  Two nails, measured with one eye, made a resting place for original human art.  The canvas asked for one thing more, a ribbon or strip of wood to hide it’s stapled edge. I promised I would, but not yet.  The boy would be home too soon….and then he was behind me, gasping his delight and approval.  100 plans came to his mind to tidy up more and decorate more.

The painting teens made a little video of the ombre backdrop.  I tried to film the stencil rolling, but apparantly I turned off the camera when I thought I was turning it on.  It really was just like rolling paint on a wall.  I only wish I had used less paint, or thicker paint and let it dry between coats.