The Bob Ross Effect
“When are you decorating for Halloween?” A sweet, seemingly
innocent question was posed to me by my friend’s child. My brief response of
uncertainty was weighted with shame, anxiety and a bit of anger. The mere
thought of adding more items to my already stuffed home caused me to feel
momentarily panicked. I was not sure if the basic décor that I had tucked away
in storage would be displayed prior to or after vacation or perhaps not at all.
Then the following day while I was having coffee with the friend whose daughter
asked the frightful question, I freaked out. I completely spun out of control
about decorations and more specifically crafts. Oh, the loathsome idea of
crafts!
Some months ago, my
therapist suggested that I try to do something artistic. “You need to work that
right brain!” was his professional suggestion. “Some professional he is!” I
thought to myself, “What does he
know!” I quickly responded to his suggestion with a glare and an angry, “I HATE
crafts!” He was confused and advised that I try to find a form of, “fine art. NOT crafts” to busy myself with. I
walked out of his office and realized that I really don’t have much use of my
left hand and that my right hemisphere has probably atrophied to the size of a
walnut. Perhaps I should look into artistic endeavors after all.
I researched watercolor classes through the local community
college. I found one that was cheap, close and at a convenient time. I did not register for it. My lack of
willingness to commit got me thinking of my visceral reaction to crafts and my
fear of the possibility of producing “art” in a classical medium.
My negative response to crafts was easy to figure out. As a
child, I had been exposed to a litany of items made from toilet paper rolls,
yarn and clothespins. These crafty objects were to be used as potholders, baby
dolls, covers for Kleenex boxes or the like. Even in my childhood they seemed
creepy, cluttery and unnecessary. To make matters worse, “Holiday Craft Fairs,”
that featured plastic, cherub-faced Mr. and Mrs. Clauses with crocheted
garments of polyester yarn, were always a requisite stop during our family’s
yard sale Christmas shopping. All of this added up to a severe disdain for
crafts and crafty ideas/people/projects.
Still, the question remained, “What about the fear of
producing ‘art’?”
I believe the answer lies with Bob Ross. The marginally
famous 1980’s T.V. show, “The Joy of Painting” featured Ross creating acrylic
landscape art in less than half an hour. He was well known enough to have his
own line of starter paint sets that would sell-out at the art supply store I
worked at in High School. My manager knew his holiday clientele and would stock
extras of these amateur art kits in expectation of the deluge of desperate gift
buyers that would inevitably descend on the shop every Christmas Eve. I
remember these last minute shoppers well. They were always middle-aged men with
a wild look in their eye. I could spot
them as they frantically pushed the glass door and approached my sales counter.
The story was always the same, “My wife really wants to get into art and she
watches this guy (wait don’t tell me) Bob Ross on T.V. and I think she would
really like to do some paintings like his. Can you recommend something?”
Absolutely! I would promptly show them the two levels of “The Joy of Painting”
sets. One was $29.99 and the upgrade (more colors and brushes) was $79.99. I
could always tell the men who were more desperate to get laid because they
always opted for the more expensive model. The less needy males would reason,
“Well, she can start with the smaller one and if she likes painting we can
always buy more.” Sure thing cowboy! I wasn’t paid on commission and could not have
honestly cared less.
Thinking back on these men, it dawned on me that Rob could
easily be one of them.
Were those customers buying for their wives who were told
to, “utilize their right brains”? Is this what I have become? A middle-aged
woman who needs a, “creative outlet” with, “happy little trees.” I may as well
commit myself.
Perhaps it is not that bad. After all, I was looking to take watercolor and not
acrylic. Also, maybe it is all right
to attempt to use my right brain on a third rate artistic venture. Also, who
really cares if my visual art sucks or is cliché? Isn’t it for my own
edification? I think it is time for me to register for that class.
I will, however stop short of knitting a toilet paper cozy.
