Aaron has a music class that requires him to attend three concerts. Last night, despite my stiff aching body, he lured me to the Eastman Philharmonia with the promise of Wendy's Frostys afterward.
It was actually rather nice. The musicians were really young, students of Eastman School of Music, I suppose. You could see them hanging out at Java Joes and never know they could grab a violin and play Rachmaninov. There was even one pink haired guy.
It made me wish I could pick up an instrument and play beautiful music. Music that floats, makes you think of planting a garden or painting every room of your house a different shade of orange. I felt dull and talentless sitting in the audience.
I used to paint. I haven't since I finished college five years ago. In graduate school the computer became my new best friend. Then the oddest thing happened this weekend. A friend of Aaron's landlord saw two of my old paintings at Aaron's apartment. He wants some of them to hang in a salon that is opening in a few months. Aaron would not give up the paintings I gave him, so I would have to paint new ones.
This is going to take a lot of thought. I was a different person then. I don't know if I am still a painter, an artist. I think I had a lot more angst and uncertainty then, which certainly affected my work. Is this guy going to want happy go lucky paintings? Can a person just pick up a paintbrush after five years and start again?
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