The Painter Who Had Nothing To Hide

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
An artistic endeavor gets temporarily terminated.

Submitted: October 30, 2007

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Submitted: October 30, 2007



Years ago when I was very pregnant with Ariana, the first of my two daughters, I began a new "home improvement" project at the house we rented in Kilmichael, Mississippi.

The house was spacious.  It sat almost half a mile from the road, behind an immense cotton field.  Another cotton field was on the right side of the house, and to the left of the driveway was a forest.  There was also a forest and a small lake BEHIND the house.  My boyfriend Tom and I really were out in the middle of the country, and we LOVED it that way!

Visitors were extremely rare, and because of the heat and my ballooning front end, I hardly ever bothered to put clothes on.  The house in Kilmichael was nice and secluded, like my own private Garden of Eden, and unless it was chilly, a special occasion would have to arise before I could be persuaded to wear clothes inside the house.

The kitchen had suffered some fire damage, and Tom and I had had to do some extensive clean-up before we moved in.  We were settled now, but the kitchen cabinets still had a black, charbroiled finish . . . not unlike my cooking at the time.

The cabinets were sturdy.  The finish had been affected, but the structural integrity had not.  After having lived in the house for quite awhile, I grew tired of the blackened cabinets and decided to paint them.

I'm an overgrown kid at heart, and I love color schemes that are reminiscent of doll houses, so I decided to paint the cabinet frames light blue and the doors a pale yellow.  I thought it would look cheery and "country".

I'm also process-oriented rather than goal-oriented.  I like the process of painting and I don't like to accomplish such a pleasurable tast too quickly, so instead of a wide brush, I opted for a one-inch artist brush.  The would afford me more control in the detail work.

I was standing, several months pregnant, on the middle run of a ladder in my kitchen, enjoying the smooth feel of paint being brushed onto wood.  True to my nature, I was completely naked and supremely comfortable in the warm sunshine that streamed in through the big picture window overlooking the side cottonfield. 

I was in my element:  immersed in a long-term artistic endeavor, until I happened to glance through the large kitchen window . . .

And saw a man on a big yellow tractor drive right past the window, harvesting cotton! 








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