My Inner Picasso

Yep, I'm pretty much devastated. I just figured out that I am probably never going to be a world renowned artist. You see a few weeks ago I created a masterpiece and kind of figured that painting must be a hidden talent that I had no idea I possessed.
     This is how it happened: For Mother's Day The Know-It-All gave me a gift certificate to go to this artsy-fartsy wine bar, drink a bunch of wine and paint a Warhol worthy picture of martini glasses.  I was almost even the teacher's pet for the night and practically everyone thought my picture was the best. 

A few of the samples. Mine is the best one...the one in the upper left, in case you didn't know.

Since then I have been thinking that I have this amazing God-given talent that has been buried deep within me and that Pablo just might be my daddy.
    I've been dreaming about painting, even while awake and have been thinking that I am on the verge...the verge of being discovered. Kind of like a super model on a street corner; only a little older and heavier, with boobs and a set of cheap brushes.

So a couple of days ago The Know-It-All, Dr. J, and I returned to the class for another night of painting and sipping.
     I couldn't wait to stand before an easel with a Dixie paper plate full of primary colors and show the world my hidden talent. Well it turns out....*Big sigh here,* that I sucked. I think a kindergartner must have taken over my body because I went from Picasso to preschooler in one brush stroke. Waaaahhhhhh! Waaaahhhhhh!
  

 

I will be the first to admit that I have more experience looking at martini glasses than I do looking at poppys, so my martini masterpiece is obviously more fabulous than my flowers. Plus I like martinis more than poppys.

But you be the judge...I'm pretty critical of my obvious artistic abilities, so maybe I shouldn't hang up my flat brush just yet. What say you?

The Big Guy stuck a knife in my heart when he looked at my poppys and said, "honey, don't quit your day job." It was kind of like telling Dr. Kevorkian to give CPR to a guy with a self inflicted gunshot wound. You know he's only trying to help but the poor bastard is going to die and now I'm afraid that my brand-spankin'-new dream of being an artist is dying a slow death as well.

But you never know because art has a way of getting better with age. Maybe in a hundred years in the back of some old box, in some dusty garage someone will pull out an old original painting of some poppys, with a barely legible signature that says "Coco," and they will recognize it for the priceless masterpiece that it is.

But just in case that doesn't happen there is an upcoming class where we will be painting margaritas. I'm thinkin' I 'm gonna be damn good at this one! 

Coco, Dr. J and The Know-It-All, getting ready to create their Poppy masterpieces!