The Bob Ross Effect

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.