It all started on the dinner table of the Thanksgiving party '07, hosted by A and S. The newly-wedded couple spoiled us with the brand-new, shiny silverware (which were handled with extra delicacy), wine and delicious food. Devouring the foods, we dutifully praised the couple, their house, furniture and pretty much every thing at sight…
In the midst of conversation, S pointed at the blank wall and said, “You know, something is missing here?” Feeling tipsy (Did we have wine?), I answered, “Okay. I will paint one for you. How large do you want?”
And that’s that. I became indebted to the couple ever since.
Another year has come and gone. I didn’t go to A’s Thanksgiving party '08 because I could not face their wistful eyes…
Finally, I decided to work on it.
More colors are added…
It goes pretty well so far. Get some praise from my classmates. Even my teacher, the “notorious” perfectionist, nods a couple times.
I don’t feel inspired, and it doesn’t progress much.
Done with brushworks…
Start using palette knives to apply the oil on the canvas. It’s more expressive than brush strokes. I feel liberated!
At evening, I bumped into W, A and S at King’s Noodles. With relief, I mentioned, “I still owe you something.” While avoiding direct eye contact, the couple murmured blandly," That’s Ok. Don’t worry about it.” Then I presented pictures of the painting on my iPhone, and teased, “So you don’t want this?” (BTW, a very sneaky way to show off my iPhone). Now I saw two faces lighting up…
W asked how long it took to paint. Instantly, S eagerly waved 2 fingers onto her face, and exclaimed, “TWO years!” Oh, boy, an accountant’s husband surely knows how to count…
When we parted, I claimed I was going to paint. They chuckled in disbelief. In fact, I really did.
Slowly I become emotionally attached to my brainchild and feel a little sad at giving it away. But I have to – a procrastinator’s words are still a man’s words even after 2 years:)
Hallelujah! It’s done!
It was also my birthday. My teacher and classmates sang the song for me ritually. We ate a cake, which one of my classmates happened to buy at a Chinese bakery.
I am against celebrating my birthdays, and so such as small fuss was good enough. In fact, finishing the painting on my birthday was way more meaningful.
Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves.
Stray Birds, Rabindranath Tagore, 1916
