Outside, the clouds look ready to burst. So my husband and I spend the Sunday cooped up at home. After a long session of cleaning, watching Netflix, and then some more cleaning, we reward ourselves with a ‘drink and paint’ session. (Read about our previous paint night sessions here and here). This time, in line with the Finding Art in Trash Challenge that I began earlier this month, we decide to turn a simple wine bottle and a Trader Joe’s paper bag into works of art. With Yanni’s music in the background, and a glass of Bulgariana Cabernet Sauvignon on the side, we start work on our respective pieces. While I give the brown paper bag a chalky base, he rubs the wine bottle clean off the glue. While I apply fat brush strokes of acrylic carefully on the bag, he pours volumes of white, red and blue colors with a creative recklessness. My rose petals emerge along measured lines and curves; in his, a hundred shiny rivers of different colors merge into a common ocean. And just as Yanni finishes with The rain must fall, we are done with our art too. We place them aside to dry, and continue our night outside in the patio, watching a new week emerge from between curtains of heavy rain.
A long walk in the sun, a couple of intense episodes of Narcos, and a few swigs of Double Black later, it was time to give the day its best ending. From the closet, we unwrapped the Egyptian Hookah. My husband lit the coal, and as the ice water in its jar gurgled, the room filled with an apple flavored smoke, reducing the contours of everything around into a dreamy haze. Almost afloat by a sense of calm and John Denver’s voice, we dipped our paintbrushes into bottles of brown and red, squeezed out dollops of white and grey, and sprayed the canvas with misty blue and black. With stencils, we drew a thousand hexagons, and with a straw, we blew narrow streams of colors out of the canvas. And then we opened the kitchen shelves with a feverish need to explore. Out came cellophane sheets, toothpicks, sponges and chopsticks that we experimented with, light headed and wide eyed. Drop by drop, stroke by stroke, we poured out a cocktail of colors, a potpourri of emotions, on to the non-judging white of the canvas – where they shall continue to remain. Long after we call it a night, a year, a life. A memorabilia of a day when we laughed, walked and felt the sunlight in our hair.