I was wearing my favorite sweatshirt … two sizes too big and thick as a bathrobe.
Carla and Steven would be home in the morning, and the house had gone silent. Even the refrigerator motor was taking the night off.
I’d been looking forward to some low-intensity time in front of the television. But watching … what? I wasn’t in the mood for explosions, political intrigue, teen angst or zombies.
Would it be too nerdy to watch the entire first season of “The Andy Griffith Show” in one sitting?
Outside, the sun found a break in the clouds and lit up the evening sky with a palate of color -- Alizarin Crimson and Titanium White, with just a touch of Phthalo Blue.
Ahhh …
I thumbed my request into the remote and the little painter man strolled onto the screen. With a few brushstrokes he created a tree-lined meadow in front of snow-covered mountains, with happy little clouds overhead.
Saturday night, home alone, binge-watching Bob Ross.
Perfect.
Watching Bob Ross has become my version of taking a deep, cleansing breath. It’s holding a sleeping baby … the smell of rain … a stream bubbling over smooth stones.
It’s purging my mind of things that need to be purged. It’s contentment.
Besides, I like his paintings. It’s been said that art is in the eye of the beholder and I prefer art when it’s immediately apparent if you’ve hung it upside down.
Bob added a little too much Van Dyke Brown to his mountain, and with a smile explained that “We don’t make mistakes. We have happy accidents.”
That’s not just a good philosophy for painting.
He planted a gnarled tree on the edge of his landscape and whispered “There’s nothing wrong with having a tree as a friend.” Whispers, I’ve decided, are far preferable to explosions and zombies.
I thought his painting was finished when he started to add a rustic cabin to the middle of the scene.
“Awww, Bob! You ruined it!” I said around a mouthful of popcorn.
By the time he signed the canvas I found myself longing for a quiet cabin in a settling like the one he’d just created.
I watched Bob Ross paint two mountains, a forest, a winter scene and a seascape.
I thought that was pretty good for a first binge.
I turned off the TV, crawled into bed and fell into a deep sleep filled with dreams of aspen leaves rattling in the breeze and flames crackling in a fieldstone fireplace.
Outside, the clouds had thickened, hiding any trace of moon or stars.
Bob would have called it Midnight Black, with just a touch of Prussian Blue.
Dan Conradt, a lifelong Mower County resident, lives in Austin with his wife, Carla Johnson.
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May 08, 2021 at 10:33PM
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Painting an idyllic scene of perfect contentment - PostBulletin.com
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