Several years have gone by and the collection of wood and hardware sitting gathering dust in a corner of a basement area has called to me in my dreams. The collection exists in the form of my French easel. It’s drawer full of bottles of hand-made medium, tubes of now illegal pigments, and scores of brushes in various degrees of usefulness. I also have a blue made in Italy that has long gone out of production… an exquisite color unmatched.
Long ago I used to toil long into the night mixing mediums, cleaning brushes, and trying to step away for the night from the canvas. I miss those nights, and while I don’t have that kind of time any longer, the fire still burns inside. Only it dwindled to embers and requests to be re-kindled.
So it’s time to go through the various tubes of paint and see what’s still usable and toss the old. I remember using Old Holland paints as well as van Gogh. I never used their white however, going with a lead white that I recall being very expensive. Since that won’t be an option, I’ll have to use something else of the same caliber. Perhaps a Rembrandt white of some type.
I have to find my tack hammer and get some gesso.
Upon opening my French easel and my three paint boxes, nothing remains. No brushes. No brush soap. No varnish, no turpentine, no mediums, no tubes, no pencils… nothing. Only the smell and crusts of very old paint fragments from my past.
I scoured our basement boxes hoping to get a sniff of anything resembling the materials… I did not find anything. Easily several hundred dollars worth of supplies built up over the years gone. I didn’t even find a box of copper tacks.
I have a single word that I could express my emotions with and I dare not speak it here. I am however dejected.