Picasso I Am Not...

We're expecting another 3-5 inches of snow tonight, so, um yeah, I've closed all the window blinds in denial. It is rather funny though, now that a partial melt down has occurred, how well you can actually see the layers of storms as you drive down the street.  It looks like an archaeological dig site.

Needless to say we all need a distraction so my sister, one of the girls from work, and I went to the hotel by my house that was hosting a paint night.  If you are unfamiliar with the concept, basically there's hors d'oeuvres and an open bar for the first hour, and then for the next hour and a half you paint your very own masterpiece.

Please note that I use the word masterpiece loosely, very loosely. I loved my art classes in college. Truthfully I excelled in pencil and charcoal drawings, but in painting, not so much. So when they handed us a pallet of acrylic paints and no water to clean or mix, I was apprehensive.

Then I saw the painting.

*sigh*

Craaaaapppp....

The whole reason we chose this class was that it was a Monet inspired piece.  And while I knew we wouldn't be painting an actual Monet, I do know that Monet tends to look a little blurry, so the more wine I drank the better it might turn out.  Right?  Tell me I'm right? So I drank, and had some grapes, then some cheese, and drank a little more. My face went warm, my ear lobes felt fuzzy, my co-worker called me a light weight, my sister laughed at me, and we hadn't even picked up the paintbrushes yet.

As the night wore on we experimented with the paints, the brushes, and markers. We walked around and looked at the other 30 or so masterpieces being created.  Some had watercolor influences.  Others had splashes of color that seemed to dance across the canvas. Each one was unique and somehow brought out the personality of the painter.  When we were done, my sister headed home and my co-worker and I went to a local restaurant for dinner. Aside from the freezing cold night (7 degrees), it was a fantastic time.

The next morning Tony found my canvas in the kitchen.

Me: "Don't laugh.  It's been 22 years since I painted anything besides the house. I don't totally hate it."
Tony: "It's not bad." (long pause) "It's England, right?" *snickers*
Me: "Shut up." (eye roll)
Tony: "Hey Youngest, look at this painting."
Youngest: "I've seen that painting somewhere before."
Tony: "Mom painted it last night.  It's London, right?"

(Youngest just rolls his eyes and walks away)

Here it is, in all it's glory.

I assure you it looks much better after two glasses of wine.  Tony insists on hanging it in the house.  He took down a picture in the sun room and hung it up before I left for work on Saturday morning. I took it down and replaced it with the original picture.  When I returned home it was back up on the wall.  It's like a bad Elf on the shelf prank, but with a painting. Trying to stay one step ahead of him, I hung it over the new washing machine in the basement.

It makes me smile when I see it there, because I know it will be months before he finds it.