Lately I have been having a daydream. What's the daydream? The daydream is that I would love to be an artist painter.
Being an artist appeals to me. Being a painter appeals to me. The colors, the images, the light, the shapes, the creativity, the vision put on canvas. I would love to be a painter, to create art, art which hopefully would sell in art galleries for tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands, or millions, of dollars per painting. Not to mention the groupies I could have. Ah, what a life that would be. Sitting in front of an easel, indoors and sometimes outdoors, bringing forth art, bringing forth creative artistic magical moments with paint and brush. Magical hours and days of high expectation, high frustration and high satisfaction. Me in sync with the easel, creating art.
I would love to be a painter. A good painter. A great painter. So why don't I become a painter? Because I can't paint. I know little or nothing about how to paint. When I was in kindergarten, we had art class and we used to paint and draw. I was lousy at it. In fact, even with crayons, I couldn't color within the lines. I still can't color within the lines. At a young age I quickly gave up the idea and the appeal of being an artist painter. Now strangely, a lifetime later, I have the daydream, the fantasy, of being a painter. I do not know why. Yes, I could try it, I could become a artist painter. Yes, I could buy the paints, brushes, canvas - and maybe take some classes - but in my heart I know it would not be a good experience. I would be a lousy painter and it would not make me happy. For me, being an artist painter is a daydream, a fantasy, no doubt just a temporary longing, a passing desire. Every dream need not be pursued, only the ones that don't go away. Perhaps I will lovingly and longingly keep the fantasy of being an artist painter - and stick to writing.
They say "a picture is worth a thousand words". Maybe the reverse is true. Maybe a thousand words is worth a picture.