Jamie Garrett Shows Us His Picasso Side With a Night of Painting at Home
After 18 years in radio, I've learned to paint pictures with words, whether promoting a concert or calling a football game. Visually, I'm as impaired as Stevie Wonder.
I don't mean that with disrespect, it's just to say that I'm not a visual artist. I may have to use all 1,000 words, but I'll paint that picture. In 18 years of an ever-changing radio landscape, website blogging remains one of my most difficult tasks. There's a lot of swinging and missing here.
I've always been this way. I didn't know at 5-years old, but my talent didn't lie in the arts. I still have pictures that I drew in 2nd grade, and to be completely honest, it's not a lot worse than what I'm capable of now. That's not a compliment to my younger self. That's an indictment on my current self.
While I took my older son, Tyler, to his first hockey game in Cedar Park Saturday night, my wife bought some supplies for her and my younger son, Logan, to do an at-home Painting With a Twist. They had their fun while I was kicking back watching the Texas Stars.
Because of the threat of ice Saturday morning, the 5K I was scheduled to emcee was rescheduled to Sunday afternoon. Once I finished up (already having missed the first NFL playoff game) I hurried home to catch the 2nd game. My wife, however, had different ideas. I was off the Michaels to get more supplies for even more painting.
Before I go any further, I do have to admit that I thought it was a fun idea even though it meant I was at Michaels while the rest of the world enjoyed playoff football. I was able to find what I'd been sent for and I was off to the house (after what seemed like 8 more stops).
After changing into the appropriate clothing so as to not spill paint on my shopping-at-Michaels clothing, the art flowed from my paint brush. OK, so it was another miserable art-fail on my part. After deciding against painting Tony Romo crying on the frozen tundra in Green Bay, I decided on Dali's Melting Clocks.
I've actually wanted to get the Melting Clocks tattooed with my two boys' birth time on the clocks for quite some time. I figured seeing the clocks would push my wife to let me spend the money to get the tats. Unfortunately, my clocks don't actually look anything like a clock.
While none of us are going to be featured in an art gallery anytime soon, we had fun. We also learned that my boys inherited both mine and my wife's artistic ability, which is to say they inherited Jack-Q-Squat.