Paintings and Boyfriends

My mother recently quoted her friend who told her that, “Painting is like sex because you know each part of what you are painting, just as you know each part of a lover.” (I love that she talks this way in front of me.) I have also gotten used to hearing my mother say that every time she looks at her painting she falls in love with it again. What does she fall in love with? Her accomplishment? The color-scheme? The memories of what was happening in her life during the time she was painting it? I know if I ask her these questions there would not be an absolute answer for all of her paintings. She would tell me that she loves each painting for different reasons because it is unique.

The way I look at a painting is the way I look at an ex-boyfriend. I know everything about it. It is familiar. It is safe. I can identify with it. I see myself when I look at it. It brings me back to a happy time when I was in love. I look at a painting and fall in love with it again. However, one major difference between a painting and an ex is that most likely the painting has never hurt you directly or intentionally. It may cause memories to surface, but it brings no new baggage.

When I look at an ex, I fall in love again, but only for an instant. After the first 30 seconds of bliss, I realize why it never worked. Something in his actions reminds me of how the relationship was ruined: how it was his fault, how it was my fault, how we were both to blame. It is the constant elements about him that kill the dream. How he eats, walks, talks, and breathes become reminders of the failures of our relationship. It is when I have recognized these characteristics that knowing everything about an ex backfires and I am no longer able to relive my past feelings.

A painting, whether it is your own or someone else’s, stays lovable and, unlike a boyfriend, it is the constant elements that make this so. Elements such as the pose, the gesture, and the expression of the subject remain things I admire. The image and its story are burned into my memory.

A painting is how the artist perceives the physical world, their outlook on life, and their history. All this is represented through the brush strokes. An artist’s whole psyche is framed and hung on a plain white wall. It is a mere reflection of reality. In a sense, every painting is a self-portrait. Even if the subject is a flower and not his own face, the painting shows how the artist sees the flower. It demonstrates what the artist thought was beautiful and fascinating about the subject. It shows what the artist obsessed over and fell in love with.

Just as a painting is a reflection of reality, each one of my boyfriends was a reflection of my own reality and ideals at the time. They represent stages of my life. With each new guy (I talk as if I have had many, but I can count them all on one hand with fingers to spare) came new views, new baggage, new hang-ups, new hope, new laughter, and new tears. Through an ex I see what I found beautiful and fascinating, what I obsessed over and fell in love with. More importantly, I see who I was when I loved him and who I am now and laugh.

Even if I was hurt during the process of the relationship I recognize that each one was a learning experience that helped to alter my views and mold them into what I am today. I have accepted the fact that whether I like it or not my ex-boyfriends are always with me because whenever I trust, whenever I give in, and whenever I fall in love it stays with me. The love that I felt never goes away. My mind simply changes its perception of it and puts it in perspective. It is as if the subject in the painting is depicted at a different angle or painted in a different color-scheme.

I have not been in a relationship for, what to me is, a very long time (over a year). I do miss the dizziness of having a crush even though crushes make me completely stupid to the point that I cannot stop thinking of the person and punish my family and friends with inane details about his life. I do miss knowing that I have someone to call at anytime without having to explain why I am calling at 4AM and have all the energy in the world. I miss holding hands. I miss leaning my head on someone’s shoulder. I miss hearing someone’s private voice: a voice that you know is meant only for you. I miss the support of someone who is not family and not just a friend, but something different.

I wish that boyfriends were like paintings. I wish I could visit them, fall in love with them and leave knowing that I can see them again whenever I want and nothing would change. With a painting there would be no new problems, baggage or fights. Our love would timeless but extremely unrealistic.

I miss things about being in a relationship, but not enough to try to be in one again… not right now anyway. I’m a bit jaded when it comes to finding love at the moment. I like being all that I need and not having to live up to anyone’s expectations. Hehe I know when the right person comes along I will be singing a different tune (“Here I go again. About to take that ride again. Starry-eyed again. Taking a chance on love”) but for now I fall in love with the simple things in life. Natural beauty. Old song lyrics. Paintings.