Oil and Linen

I am taking painting classes!

Finally after 3 years of only dabbling in doodles and travel-sized watercolors I smell like turpentine and have streaks of green and yellow paint in my hair. I don't know why it has taken me so long to get back into it; time, money, the usual excuses. But I was starting to feel like I could no longer describe myself as an 'artist' or 'painter' since my creativity was expressed in other ways. (Like cooking?).

A group of women get together on Wednesdays at the Facultad Nacional de Salud Publica for two hours to take free painting lessons offered by the University's Department of Well-Being (like a student events office--I think). When I first heard about it last week I didn't want to get my hopes up too high, but after showing up at the first class and seeing how serious these ladies take their art, I realized that I have found the perfect way to get my painting juices flowing again.

Of course I couldn't start painting that first day since I brought no supplies with me, but on Saturday I set out by myself on a mission to get everything I need to start making pretty pretty artwork. The teacher suggested I go to a shopping center called "El Rio" which is near "El Hueco", one of the craziest, compact, churning shopping districts in the city. Imagine the grand bizarre (for those of you who have been there), on third-world steroids. Shops after shops piled on top of each other selling anything from pantie-hose to watch batteries, from foreign perfumes to prescription glasses. I absolutely love wandering aimlessly, anonymously through the tight stalls marveling at how much random stuff exists in this world, (most of it made in China), and on a Saturday afternoon it was absolutely teeming with shoppers--to the point where I couldn't even feel my pockets people were packed against me so tightly.

But since I was out with a purpose, the confusing maze of stalls was overwhelming as I entered one shopping center after another asking for a place that sold art supplies without seeing anything that looked like a paintbrush or pallet knife. My wild-goose chase finally led me to 'El Rio', and as I wove between men carrying boxes packed with sanitary napkins that they almost almost spilled all over me as I blundered through looking for 'number 148' I crossed my fingers behind my back hoping that my efforts would yield something better than kiddie paints. At the end of the hallway I looked up and the display of paints, brushes, canvases, and craft supplies seemed to glow and hum like the apparition of the Virgen de Guadalupe must have appeared to Juan Diego. They had everything I wanted, and at a great price--I paid about $8 for a 30cm by 40cm canvas! (Ok, I know this is starting to sound like a cheesy television ad...but I was really excited!).

I eventually walked away with a huge bag of British and Chinese paints (just for a cost-quality comparison), the rest of the supplies on my list (in Spanish because I realized my artistic vocabulary is rather low: I thought a canvas was a 'lienzo' not a 'bastidor'), and three new friends. The older men and girl my age working the stall were all facinated by the fact that I was a foreign artist buying out half their stock, especially since they couldn't guess for the life of them where I was from: (Argentina? No? Then definitely Spain. No? You're American!?!), and a huge sense of accomplishment. The feeling of being independently competent in a foreign culture is entirely rewarding when it yields such sought-after results!

Now all I need to fiure out is what to paint...