Judy P's Tickle Trunk

Canned Peas in a Bottle

I have never been able to walk into the studio, pick up a brush and start painting. Painting for me is like some exercise in behavioural therapy where one is gradually exposed to the challenge until desensitized. Tho I worked in the opposite direction; as I became closer to the completion of the work I found it increasingly difficult to approach it. Kind of like those old theatre friends from back in St. John’s – the greater their fame, the more humbly I felt I had to approach until finally I stopped going up to them at all. Anyhow, on “Pantry” painting days I came up with endless reasons to procrastinate; my journal required updating, a frittata was required for breakfast instead of the usual cold cereal which in turn required a trip in to Liverpool for bacon and tomatoes, a tulip had opened fully and had to be photographed,  then an urgent need for a second trip to Liverpool, this time by bicycle, to Frenchy’s to find the perfect painter’s smock to cover my pink two dollar LL Bean t-shirt which I purchased while procrastinating the previous day. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon, when the stars aligned and I could think of no other distractions, that I was able to enter the studio. But even then, painting did not start immediately; there was a certain ritual to be performed. (Was it in Even Cowgirls Get the Blues or some other Tom Robbins novel that the author described the protagonist  as despising routine but loving ritual? Just like me I had thought when I read it)  On entering my studio I was as serious as a young Buddhist disciple preparing the Zendo for Wednesday night zazen. The floor had to be swept, the easel turned at just the right angle, the chairs carefully placed, a camp stool for painting the lower bits and a nursing rocker for silent contemplation of the painting, the paint tubes and brushes in a perfect line on the altar, oops, the trolley, a fresh glass of drinking water, and last of all the perfect music. This summer past it was Le Chevalier de Saint-George.

Pickles and Pesto, detail from 'Pantry'

Once the first dab of paint was applied it was like I was set free and I worked diligently until the light changed or I became distracted by thoughts of supper. There was one peculiar incident the day I painted the cucumber pickles. I had put down the base of white for the slices and moved on to the green base for the pesto. Minutes later I returned to add the cuke skins but the paint was not dry, which was odd because everything else had dried rapidly. I killed time by painting the juice of the mustard pickles. The slices were still tacky to touch but I went on to add another layer of paint. I picked up the tube of white and gasped as it flew out of my hand with such force that it skittered across the studio floor to the other side of the trunk. I had to crawl to reach it and, my trick knee not being what it used to be, I paused for a second to whimper. It was then my eyes were drawn to the tube and I was shocked to discover that it was not acrylic at all, but oil. That’s why it wouldn’t dry! I was certain then that my muse had  struck the tube fiercely from my hand in annoyance. I smiled, found a tube of titanium white and returned to the pickles.

'Pantry" - acrylic and a touch of oil on masonite

The piece finally got finished and hung on the day before we left the house for the end of the season. I was flattered that Lance now wished to hang it outside the door so that no part of the painting would be obscured by the mullions but I was insistent that it be used as intended.  So we screwed the masonite to the back of the door and stood back and photographed it for posterity. Even though the picture is in the main room it is easy not to notice it; it has a very subtle presence. I can completely forget it is there but then sometimes, walking through the room, it catches the corner of my eye and again, I feel the satisfaction of having a full pantry, albeit two dimensional and completely calorie-free.

Faux 'Pantry' - Judy Parsons 2010