Redemption Looks Like
The smell of acrylic paint brings me back. It take me back to the dinning room table of the 3rd or maybe 4th house I lived in as a child. Takes me back to the simple wonder of mixing new colours. Of painting Christmas ornaments for all the relatives. My earliest memory of painting is of the time I sat on the kitchen floor with a stack of printer paper and my Crayola paints. Painting landscapes and starry sky’s, where the sky never met the horizon. I can remember this old notebook I had, it was fuzzy and had a crown on the cover. I was, for all intents and purposes, retaught the english language at 13 and 14 years old. I could not write at 5 years old but I would pretend. I would write page after page full of scribbles, trying to make it look like a story. I was a shy child, I would not speak unless spoken to often times. And as I once said my words never failed to fail me. But look at me now. This past Sunday I picked up a paint brush for the first time ...