So I went down to the studio this morning. Figured even if yesterday’s experiment was a bust it might be edible.
It was. And it wasn’t. Note to self: Real cream cheese has to be refrigerated. That should’ve been my first clue.
Couldn’t eat it. Nothing else to do but scrape that sucker down. I even took a photo of that, best I could with one hand holding the camera. Turned out okay. I can’t post it though because the quick fingered screwup fairy hit delete when she didn’t mean to. Or maybe she did. Just close your eyes and picture a well manicured dainty hand with skin as soft and smooth as (fill in your cliche here) holding one of those high tech scraper tools. Like a hand model.
Scraping was like slowly unwrapping a luscious present, the kind where you carefully untie the knots, peel the tape away, stick your finger under the flap and-oh-so-slowly lift off the paper while everyone around you is jumping up and down yelling, “OPEN IT ALREADY!!!” And you just sit there humming Carley Simon’s ANTICIPATION. Driving. Them. Crazy.
Go ahead hum a few bars. Right now. Because I put that song in your head and if you don’t get it out of your system it’ll be there ALL DAY. I’ll wait. In fact I’ll go one better. I’ll bring you the concert.
Back already? Good. Because I’ve got an important lesson to share. There I was, slowly and patiently scraping away. Then I started getting excited as landmarks began to emerge. A row of accretions looming just under the surface like an undersea mountain range. Excavations faintly visible under layers of tissue and wax. Each new revelation daring my common sense to keep on going. So I did.
And I went too far.
Then it was back to square 1. Wax. Layer. Scrape. Buff. Gold leaf. A little ground pastel. A little oil paint. More wax. The final piece the same…but different.
Another day, another lesson learned.