It was about 2 years ago. I was painting something, a picture, when I went to the tea pot and then on to the jax. It wasn’t a very big journey in my little American house, but nonetheless I took the paintbrush I was currently using with me.
Unless you’re painting in freezing and damp conditions (like my studio in winter), acrylic paints dry very fast. A brush would be ruined in no time, especially if you lose track of minutes, turned into a lump of hard useless plastic with a long elegant handle - like Ryan Tubridy.
So when I’m painting I don’t put the brush down, not to answer the phone, not to open the door, not to go to the jax. That way I can I keep an eye on the paint on the brush and make sure I return to painting with it before it dries on there.
This one day the paintbrush was clenched in my teeth as I walked into the windowless toilet to find myself confronted with 2 plain t-shirts hanging on the shower rail to dry. They weren’t really plain but to match my life I had long turned them inside out. I touched them. Both were dry.
Forgetting the painting out on the art table that I was in the middle of doing, I put brush to fabric. By the time I had finished I had 2 painted t-shirts. One was of a goat - though to be honest you had to be told this to see it. And the other was this one, vague yellow squares with twisted red lines running through them.
It’s been washed a hundred times since, so it’s fairly weathered now, somewhat cracked and broken like anything you dare to love - but I reckon most t-shirts worn and washed that much in 2 years wouldn’t have fared much better. This is it 2 weeks ago, taken by myself whilst wearing it.
There’s a load of shirts I fancy doing, and I’m also pondering doing some for readers and fellow bloggy people. Keep an eye.