Humbling assignment for one-time child prodigy

When I was a wee child, my mother used to hang every single one of my artistic creations on the refrigerator. Giant-headed stick figures, oval-shaped animals with legs that stretched to the bottom of the page, the letter “J” turned backward — everything I produced was fridge-worthy.

As an artist herself, Mom must have recognized me as a child prodigy. I mean why else would I have gotten all that airplay on a fridge that held the work of seven older siblings, right?

Sadly, in spite of my mother’s (possibly undue) praise, my artistic ability never progressed much beyond those spectacularly rudimentary sketches. Now, in a family filled with artists, many of whom I was a participant in creating, I am the outlier, the guy who can’t sketch much more than a bubble-headed stick family as a tribute to my own progeny. Even my kindergarten-age grandson is threatening to eclipse me.

“Look, Papa. I’m almost as good of a ‘drawer’ as you!” James proudly declares.

Give it a few months, and he’ll realize I can barely draw water from a tap.

Given this abject lack of talent, it should be a foregone conclusion that my abilities are of little use to the burgeoning family business of painting giant things on the sides of buildings. My place on the roster has stood firmly at “water boy, brush cleaner and occasional picture-taker” since my wife Kristin’s earliest commercial works. So you can imagine my elation when the maestro herself asked me if I would be willing to help with a mural.

“John, I am running out of good weather to finish my mural,” Kristin said, referring to her current work on the wall of an auto body shop, which features race cars and all other manner of cool stuff. “It’s looking like perfect weather today, but I’m stuck teaching an indoor class. Do you think that maybe … ?”

“That I can paint a mural on the side of a building?” I shouted. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life! What do you want me to paint? A Mustang? A Torino? A Bronco? Hand me a brush!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said. “Take a breath. It’s a little less complex than that.”

“How less complex?”

“Well, it’s best to keep things simple when you are just starting out, right?”

“Um, yes, Kristin, but it’s not like I’ve never picked up a paintbrush before. You’ll recall that I painted our bedroom just last year, window trim and all.”

“OK, good. That is a great example and very good experience for what I am asking you to do.”

“So how less complex? A Ford Taurus, an Escape for gosh sakes?” I begged.

“What I really need is a white line,” she said. “I know that sounds simple, but … ”

“My breakout moment in art is a white line on the side of a building?”

“Well, it’s not just any white line, John. It will be the base coat of a finish line! A checkered flag!”

“OK, now I’m excited!” I said. “So I do the base coat of white today, and I come back tomorrow to do the black checkerboard stuff?”

“Well, you’re right on the first part, but you’d better leave the boxes to me,” Kristin said. “They’d be pretty easy to mess up, and covering over black is really difficult.”

I got the message. The full bloom of my talent would have to wait. I’m sure even Michelangelo started the same way, a white line on some 15th-century stucco wall.

I took the job. The rest might be history.

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.