It wasn't me!

I killed an artist long ago.

An artist in me that is. Well actually, I didn't kill, more like strangled or suffocated... I just kept pressing on that pretty little neck till it was OVER!!!! Ok, a bit overly dramatic, but really, that's what happened.

So I loved to draw. I started as soon as I was able to hold a pencil (according to la mamma). I would draw anything and everything. Ladybugs, monsters, illustrations to stories mom read to me, grandma, grandpa... ice cream! When I was 8 I took art classes two times a week, the other two days a week I took tennis lessons. Two completely different activities but I just loved them both.

I remeber especially during the competitions the feeling was incredible. There were moments in which the world stopped. The blood just rushed to your head drowning out any noise around giving you this moment of complete FOCUS. And than BAM, you slam that ball already knowing and visualizing where it will hit on the opposite court. You're airborne and every muscle in your body obeys your commands even before you have a chance to think them. You just KNOW your win is inevitable, you also know how to visualize that win, and there is NOTHING that can make it impossible.

I can say the same experiences took place as I held a pencil or a paint brush standing in front of a paper. I couldn't hear or see anything. All I would be able to do is visualize the painting before making that first stroke... It was like seeing who you really are. In these moments you were completely sure of why you are here and what for... And that's not the knowledge to take lightly.

But even then... to get to my art class I had to pass by the tennis courts. I would look over to see the game, and I couldn't help but feel that if one day I have to choose, I would chose sports over art.

The actual "killing" took place when I turned 14 and planned the rest of my life...
I was going to have a career in International business and there would be no room for art.

I wish I could say "I'm such a dumbass!" start going to therapy and blame my parents for everything. But no, it was my own decision and I honestly can't say I completely regret it. I chose "sport" over art. I chose to go into a career that is a constant competition, a constant training camp. As much as I complain about this and that, my previous job hopping and my forever whining about wanting to spend all my days on a beach, the reality is that I can't live without the challenge. After a week of laying on a beach I'm sure I'd sit up and start thinking about where to get a boat and organize a scuba-diving school.

Ok fine, so I don't regret choosing my career, but why is it that I have not touched a pencil in something like ten years... why have I stopped going to art museums? Why was the immediate necessity to pee the ONLY reason I walked into the great UFIZZI Gallery during my entire 9 month stay in Florence? Why have I not ONCE gone inside the Sistine Chapel during the very many times that I visited Rome? Apart from the liking to project an airy blonde, it wasn't because I'm not interested. Its because, I don't want to think about it, I don't want to even doubt that I might have made a wrong choice. And if it really was the right choice to make, why do I still feel such a strong pull after all these years of completely ignoring all things art?

But enough of this analytical nonsense! Feeling sorry, doubtful, unsure... and all those other useless little feelings does NOT happen at Sempre Primavera! Here we take action. We eat adrenaline with a spoon, then lick it clean, and ask for seconds!

So very simply: yesterday I went to Pearl Paint the most famous art store in Manhattan, the glorious 5 full story building right on Canal street in China town; marched up and down the isles, grabbed:
1. colored pencils
2. a brush set
3. a watercolor paper pad
4. a huge gum eraser
5. and an HB pencil

Then I went up to the counter... got mistaken for a student, played along, GOT a student discount!!! And walked right out. DONE!!

Ok, I won't lie it was very painful in the beginning, but somewhere between the water color paper pad and the gum eraser the pain went away and was replaced by pure excitement. I could not wait to draw. Most importantly I realized I still have it; that ability to visualize the victory until its in your hands.

Lesson children: Entrance ticket to the Uffizi gallery is 6 Euros. A damn EXPENSIVE place to use the toilet!

Here is the info: www.pearlpaint.com shop on line and world wide delivery
And in NYC: 308 Canal Street near the intersection with Broadway