It’s true. There is no such thing as wasted paint. I am asked over and over, “what does wasted paint mean?” Most think it’s a song or a punny take on being a lush, which may or may not also be true.
Artists have their artwork held in museums and behind a glass casing for the world to gaze at adoringly. Every onlooker has a different reaction and observation, an entirely intimate experience unlike another. Art is the visual representation of our creative skill, expression, and imagination. I truly believe that art is the greatest wonder of our world. We have the capacity to create with no purpose besides pure expression without any limitations. And is that not the most beautiful thing ?
Art does not give us physical oxygen per se, but it does give us a purpose to breathe. While we are standing in front of a painting at The Louvre, we are enamored by the detail of ancient pieces. We congregate around art because we are awestruck by the talent of those so seemingly no different than plain old us.
Do you ever stop to think, “ What did the palette look like before it was tossed in the trash?” The glorified painting behind the glass was created because of a trusty table littered with paints and brushes, water stains, and muddy old paint spills. Sleepless nights, hair pulling creative slumps, focus tunnels and endless cups of tea or coffee. My very own creative craving recipe; whiskey, guilty pleasure playlists, and an occasional full pint of ice cream. The palette getting tossed in the trash is just as important to the final masterpiece as the canvas. The elements that contributed to pure expression, that is Wasted Paint.
Wasted Paint; the paper towels full of paint swatches, the tissues that shave lipsticks, the cotton that sweeps glitter from under your eyes, the drips of watercolors that fell from a splatter, the debris littering the ground from a carving, the specks of ink that splashed while fiercely writing; the trash that doesn’t get enough credit. The palette that is thrown away, full of the moments of trial, error, and pure love. That my friends is wasted paint.
All the beauty found in the world, is owed to not one single thing; but a series of events unbeknownst to us. I call this phenomenon the pursuit of self-love. The pursuit is a painter’s palette. The self-love is the masterpiece. There is not one without the other.
I hope to create a community where the pursuit is just as celebrated as the destination. I encourage you to submerge yourself in your own unique palette, whatever madness that may be. Because we are, without a doubt, becoming masterpieces in our own right. And if at the end of it, we are all a little drunk in self-love, then let it be so, wasted paint.