A miniature witch’s broom. Fine
bristles stiff to the touch, smooth in a stroke- all tapered to an elegant tip.
With a simple, slim wooden form, a paintbrush is capable of creating works so
magnificent that countless people a year flock to museums for glimpses of
man-made treasures. Indeed, a paintbrush in itself is worthy of its own
exhibit.
My fingers itch for the tool
when I see the blend of cool hues just after sunset. Or when frostbitten leaves
fall in puddles around trees. Just some
swoops, some dabbles, and some slashes create an artist’s signature in paint.
Pictures may be worth a thousand words, but there is only one view, one vision.
Paintings, on the other hand, are so easily pliable. With Seurat, his
paintbrush served as a dotting tool- images created solely through vibrant dots
of pigment. Kandinsky had no clear subject- everything was open to the viewer’s
interpretation. A paintbrush, therefore, is vital in an artist’s dream world.
As the muscles in my hand loosen with every
stroke of paint, and as my eyes relish the fluffy blend of colors, the
paintbrush is there to always ease my stress. When I hold the tool in my hand,
I’m a balloon that has escaped a child’s sticky hands. I fly closer to my
imagination until I disappear into it. In my mind, a pen is never necessary,
for my paintbrush speaks all my unspoken words.
