Painting a Chair, When It Is Just Painting a Chair
By Kathryn Magendie | May 27, 2022 |
There was something meditative about it. The cleaning of the old rocking chair, knocking off dust, noticing all the nicks and cuts, and the gnawed parts where a pup long grown and long gone from cancer had chewed in his puppy-breathed delighted boredom. I sighed, remembering that dog, and other dogs. I pressed my fingertip to a particularly roughened spot, imagining I could still feel his teeth marks as they were before, sharp not dulled.
Chair clean, I gathered my tools: paintbrush, paint, cloth.
Taking my time, I brushed paint carefully in slow back and forth motions. Never before had I considered that painting could be relaxing and calm. There was no hurry. I’d do it right, as right as I knew how. But if it didn’t turn out perfectly, no matter, for it was an old rocking chair that I could experiment on. Even the paint color was an experiment, a black that didn’t look black at all but matte gray.
As I painted, it occurred to me that if I painted chairs for a living, or if I were painting that chair to sell, everything would be different. Everything. I’d be a little more aware of every stroke of that brush, but in a tense way: get it right, exact, no mistakes allowed, and is that paint color really what you wanted, is it what the client will want, is it what the boss will want? And hurry. There are other chairs to paint! Hurry! Get it done! Get it right!
How happy was I to know I was only painting an old chair and however it turned out would be okay. I could repaint it if I didn’t like the color. Or if I messed up, I’d fix it. I could take one hour, a day, a week, a month. There was no one over my shoulder telling me I better hurry up with that chair.
Well now. Wait. I sat back on my heels and smiled at the moment of Aha.
This is how I used to write, my friends. Just as I am writing now. Directly onto this writer unboxed blank page. I’m not writing this in Word, and then going over it and over it and over it. I barely have the paint washed from my hands. There is still paint in my hair, on my face, on my clothes. Oh, who cares, right? I will clean up soon enough. I had to come to you here, and tell you how my meditation over an old rocking chair opened up a portal of understanding that I’d forgotten.
That has been the missing link.
Shall we write in a meditation? A state of comfort and of joy and of peace? See where it leads us? We can tidy up our mistakes. We can change the color. We can ease our shoulders.
Join me?
Author, Content Editor at Edge of Arlington, and along with Angie Ledbetter, former Publishing Editor of The Rose & Thorn online journal.
Her short stories, essays, poetry, and photography have been published in print and online publications. Her novels are available in print and ebook. TENDER GRACES, Magendie’s first novel, was an Amazon Kindle Number 1 best-seller.
She lives in the Smoky Mountains in a little log home in the Cove at Killian Knob in Maggie Valley, Western North Carolina with her wonky-toothed little dog named Bear. Trees surround her. The mountains hug around her. Critters love her. Crows follow her around the Cove. Bears stare at her through her window. One day she’ll finish another novel.
Some or all of this is true.
Oh, yes! Please. Let’s remember the writer of our youth, spilling words on pages and pages that never saw the light of day. The joy of stories we shared only with our best friend. Who cared about writing rules? Not me. Not then. The knots in my stomach started after years of study and my timid approach to an agent, a publisher. Tiptoeing around THEIR rules. THEIR deadlines. I love your post. Throw me a paintbrush. I’ll join you.
*tosses paintbrush* – let’s get to paintin’
Kathryn, I have an old chair that I re-paint now and again. My husband thinks I’m crazy. I love that chair. I also have novels that came from my heart, hours of work in early mornings when the children were in school, before the day demanded other things. Peace can come with a paintbrush, but also with the fingers on the keys. Now my writing (all of it) means so much to me. And it has stretched and changed, improved and grown. I read, I write. And your piece spoke to me. There is something about the quiet that comes with creation. It’s so human to want to leave your mark–or strokes. Thanks.
so true about leaving our mark! Even painting a chair I think: one day my son and/or granddaughter will have this chair. Makes me paint all the better!
Thank you for this beautiful meditation, Kathryn. I often write in church, unhurried, in joy and peace, experiencing God’s Presence. And sometimes I’m able to carry that same sense writing at home–usually on the back porch. Btw, it’s all hand-written. I’m not sure why it’s more difficult to attain on the computer. It is so encouraging to know you can do this. God bless you and all the works of your hands.
I used to hand-write everything! I came across a bunch of it the other day. What memories. And how connected we feel when writing by hand, yes?
How lovely and wise this is, Kathryn. Thanks
*smiling* thank you …
Wonderful analogy, Kathryn. With so many stressful situations in the world, we need to remember the transcendental state that writing can afford us — if we let it. Have a safe and relaxing Memorial Day weekend.
… and to you as well! smiling warmly
This, truly, should be the thought first and foremost in our minds. Try and write for others and we end up going nowhere. Write with our imagination leading the way and we’ll leave the trail, we’ll discover places we didn’t know existed, places no one else knew existed. How ironic that, then, so many will be grateful we went somewhere they hadn’t thought to send us.
Yes ! big smile!
This really made me want to find an old chair and paint it. Such a great description of transcending ‘opinion’ to ‘I am doing this for me and no one else’. I love all of your writing…but this piece really hit home.
Hello Fab Lyn! Smiling at you!
Yes.
*smiling*
Some days are diamonds, but some are rust… This lovely meditation/vignette/memory fell into my morning like a sparkling gift from the Universe. Now that I am indie published, I don’t have to answer to a contract, All the stress is self imposed. I Can Make It Stop! Thank you and thank you again and again for reminding me that there can be joy.
And you know, I love rusted stuff sometimes! Old rusty stuff tells a story, doesn’t it? And congrats to you for publishing your work!
Kathryn, that was a comforting campfire. When I saw your title, I immediately thought of that Magritte painting of a pipe, titled, “This Is Not a Pipe.” This is not an essay, this is not a chair, this is a meditation. Thank you.
Love this!
I love this analogy. It takes so much pressure off writing. Thank you.
I just took a deep breath and let it out slow. Yes!
This post is exactly what I needed today, Kathryn. Thank you!
Hi lovely you! Thank you for allowing me to be a part of this community.
Thank you for BEING a part of this community! :-)
Yes! Lovely! Painting. Drawing. Slicing. Climbing. The science on the hand-brain connection continues to evolve highlighting the results of these purposeful interactions between our hands and our brains. This isn’t the article I was looking for to share, but it highlights one aspect and provides other resources to explore: https://www.cbsnews.com/news/the-connection-between-busy-hands-and-brain-chemistry/ In other words, our manual efforts are part of an intelligence and self-reinforcing system that nourishes us.
That was a fascinating article, Charlie. Thanks. I’ve always observed that my hands know more than my head. Even doodling helps to figure out things completely unrelated–I’d be drawing patterns and wham, I suddenly know how a molecular reaction would occur. It’s the same with writing. I’ll stick to handwriting and washing dishes (that too is meditative) instead of trying to be efficient.
Vijaya, I’m so glad you found it helpful. I connected with Sam Bradd with Drawing Change because I, too, felt the connection with drawing, and his work is inspiring! Here’s a little sample of his content: https://drawingchange.com/resource/starting-your-graphic-recorder-career-first-projects-and-wise-practices/. He also had a hand in a book called Visual Practice. If you’re (general “you”) writing, by my definition you’re creative, and we can all access drawing and expression in ways that benefit us. Stick figures have great value. I had let go of the idea of drawing perfection already, but Sam’s perspective fully got me into embracing my drawings and seeing where it goes. I now explain why it’s so important! (rather than excuse my own)
fascinating!
oh, thank you! I am excited to read that, Charlie! In simplistic thinking, it’s like washing dishes – your mind wanders while your hands are on a kind of auto-pilot mode of wash, rinse. Ah, I use my dishwasher a lot because it saves water consumption but I miss the wandering thoughts of dish washing by hand while every so often staring out of the kitchen window. I will go read this article right now!
When I first started writing, circa sixth grade, publishing and earning a living were the last things on my mind. I just loved the process of putting one word after the other to create characters and describe settings — and so many words to choose from! Thanks for reminding me that joy is still possible.
Find that joy of that young girl you!
I too have returned to writing and had forgotten, but briefly, the relaxation and elation a writer feels during the formation of ideas and ideals imparted or just plain shared. Good for you girl, we miss your missives!!
welcome back to writing!
A million times yes. I feel like I am always always always trying to get myself back to the girl in her parents’ office who used to write stories to pass the time, to entertain herself while her parents were busy working. The girl who just had fun.
Such a wonderful time ….