Art supply stores are to me what candy stores are to a kid with a sweet tooth. A good one is like an endless market of appetizing treats, each more irresistible than the previous. How can you possibly be expected to choose just one? It’s been this way for me since college and my first exposure to Design art markers, their fat, felt tips saturated with intense, indelible hues, infused with an intoxicating chemical scent and a distinctive squeak that accompanies the application of color across paper. While I wished for the extravagance of owning one in every shade, my student’s budget forced the limiting selectiveness of a practical, neutral palette.
When I decided to investigate a local artist’s haven a few weeks ago, it felt like déjà vu. In search of affordable canvas for some work the kids are immersed in, I found myself lured into combing the aisles, taking in everything there was to offer. Rainbows of paints, markers, pencils, chalk and oil pastels in every conceivable shape and size. The packaging was as captivating as the medium itself. While I browsed for at least an hour, I left the store with nothing more than what I came in for, finding it better to abstain than attempt to limit myself to just one of any of the colorful temptations in the store.
Nate’s eyes were as wide as saucers when he saw my bag emblazoned with the art store logo. Seems he had been researching paint on-line the previous evening, discovering the mother of all products. He explained to me that he needed Montana Gold, renowned for the control it affords the user, that the number and size of ball bearings inside each can provides a consistency of color upon every application that is unmatched by the competition. When he asked if we could go back to the store the next day, how could I say no? He and I fed off each other as I described the infinite selection of indulgences in the store. It was like finding my soul mate.
There is nothing better than a conversation about your passion with someone who loves the exact same thing. It is an instant leap to intimacy; the mutuality creating an immediate bond. A close second is hitting upon another’s equal, but different passion. The emotions are the same, the affinity as satisfying.
I spent the weekend in Eagle River, Wisconsin with some friends. It’s a sleepy little community on a chain of lakes with an indisputable north woods feel. Stands of tall, narrow pine trees pepper the shoreline, serving as a curtain for the water, which is the star of the show. Seasonal activities pivot around the lake. Fishing, of course, is an obvious pastime, which I am no stranger to. As a kid, I spent time at Lake Delavan, at a little cottage with a small pier. It was here that my dad taught me how to pick up a worm from the container of bait, pinch off a small piece using my fingernail, and snake it on the hook at the end of my bamboo pole.
In the eyes of a true fisherman, though, this hobby takes on all of those qualities that art does for an artist. Listening to my friend recount his trip to the bait shop with its endless options of fishing lures in varying size, shape, color and sparkle, my mind went back to the art supply store. His eyes danced as he talked with his wife about the control it took to limit himself; the splurge he made on one special lure he couldn’t live without. While I’ve never viewed fishing as an art form, hearing him describe “the one that got away” in terms of the uniqueness in striping and color that truly made the elusiveness of catching this particular fish disappointing, I found a new respect for this sport, and a kinship to his passion.
You’ve hit pay dirt in my mind when you find yourself with someone so willing to share a passion. This is where we see the raw; the intangibles that make a person tick. Anything that we speak about in these terms is something to pay attention to, and incorporate into life. Maybe there’s not any money in it. Maybe it’s not a career. Certainly it’s a gift to be embraced and indulged.
This is the sweet spot; it’s where we shine.
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