Once in a lifetime no more, painting offers 'reclipse'

In the days and weeks following the Great Solar Eclipse of 2024, the world seemed united in wonder by the celestial show. Here in Northeast Ohio we enjoyed a brief moment of human alignment like no other.

The event was the conversation-starter of the century. Pull up to the window at Starbucks and the barista greats you with, “So what did you think of the eclipse?” Visit the doctor within the ensuing weeks: “Have you experienced any fever, loss of appetite? What did you think of the eclipse?” I stopped for cold cuts and cheese a week afterward and traded reflections on the moment of totality for a full half-hour with my favorite grocer. It was truly a time of coming together.

Celebrity is a fleeting thing, and the moon, once creator of the world's most striking and famous shadow, will soon be left alone to fondly reflect upon its moment in the sun.

And while back on Earth we mere mortals once again take up our own day-to-day, the moon should find some solace in knowing we’ve written reams, collected millions of photos and created myriad works of art to celebrate the lowly satellite’s astral accomplishment.

As part of her own observance, my wife led a painting class in which each artist created their own rendition of the eclipse. The mechanics of such a class always delivers two of the same image to our abode, one that Kristin paints beforehand to work out her method and one she paints while leading the class. It’s not that each of her works is not duly treasured, but two of any particular painting is usually one too many for any household. As such, the orphan painting, while not overtly neglected, can often move in a less than respectful way toward Kristin’s archive in the attic.

Caught up in a busy time, Kristin’s “spare” eclipse painting lived for weeks in the back of her car, sharing space with all the other cargo of a mobile artist’s life — buckets, brushes, tubes of paint, tubs of easels — until one day last weekend when she needed to clear space for more of the same. In a typical flurry, she pulled out the painting and set it down on the nearest flat surface she could find — the hood of my pickup truck.

It is simply a matter of personal preference that leads me to back my truck into the garage each night. I like to roll out with a full view of the driveway. Kristin prefers to nose in, so she can easily load and unload all of her stuff (and apparently use my hood as a staging area).

I think you know where this is headed.

I’m a smallish man, and my short stature behind the wheel does not allow for a full view of the contour of the hood of my truck as it arcs away from the windshield. This is typically of little consequence as there are not often paintings lying in that particular space.

The incident was fortunate in that I had barely made it a block when the painting lifted from its perch to paste itself squarely against the windshield for an instant. There it offered my second moment of totality in a month — a first in the annals of the solar eclipse!

Kristin’s “Eclipse” continued on to cartwheel over the roof and into the bed of my truck, where it landed face up between a rotting banana peel and handful of rubber bungees and miraculously unscathed! Suffice it to say my expectations had been wildly eclipsed yet again!

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.