Old Dog Builds a Wall

Or Would You Please Stop that Infernal Tapping

In March, I started work on a new project where I try my hand at other people’s passions. First up was building and painting 1/35-scale architectural facades. An idea that came when I stumbled across Martin Kovac’s YouTube video. To be completely upfront, I do have experience painting miniatures and making terrain for game tables, but not at this level of realism.

After a few proof-of-concept pieces, I designed and started work on what I hoped would be my first complete project. It was a section of brick wall, about four inches square, covered in cracked plaster, with a rotting wooden door hanging from metal strap hinges and a GE sign high, at least as high as it could be on a four-inch model, in one corner.

It was intended to fill an old outlet box recessed into a concrete pillar in the coworking space where I rent an office. You know, like the little people living inside the walls decided they wanted some privacy.

But as is often the case, life got in the way. You see, the lung cancer that had been on my mother-in-law’s heels finally managed to run her down. She’d kept herself one step ahead of it for a couple of years, but it had been pretty far along when it was found, and she just wanted to die with her dignity and all her hair, so she didn’t really do any treatment.

But when the shit finally caught hold of her, there was no getting away.

One afternoon, I’m called on the carpet at the retirement home where she lives because she was caught with a joint in her room; she’s on oxygen and weed’s not legal in Indiana, and the next, she’s quickly disappearing in a haze of painkillers and anti-anxiety meds.

For about a week, Trena and I would sit at her bedside during the day, so my father-in-law could, or rather, would go to dialysis. While my wife’s and, by extension, my relationship with the old lady had been strained, it was still rough sitting there with Death impatiently tapping his scythe on the hard floor.

In truth, she had a peaceful death.

In the evenings, all I wanted to do was go home and lose myself in the project, but the little brick wall refused to play along. It fought me. I can’t explain what that means except to say that every bit of the process was difficult. And after I’d ruined several hours of work with a few quick brush strokes, I gave up and let the thing sit.

Maybe it was because I was still trying to internalize the required skills, or maybe it was just that building these facades requires a type of focus and patience I’d not fully developed yet, but I found myself unable to make any of the decisions required.

My writing didn’t suffer, nor did the skills needed for the extremely complex video game I play, but working on that little wall was like trying to control my feet while running down a flight of steps.

The convergence of my mother-in-law’s death with the early stages of a new artistic endeavor provided some insight into my creative process.

Note: These insights are only valid for my experiences. Your mileage may vary.

So, I have internalized writing. It’s become something akin to tying my shoes and doesn’t take much thought anymore. In fact, thinking too much makes it difficult. These changes have been slow in coming. When my brother-in-law was murdered almost five years ago, things went a bit differently. At that time, I really couldn’t find the wherewithal to put words on paper.

I remember a comment in Notes a while back that said something to the effect of, ‘When you sit with difficult things and find yourself looking with an eye towards getting it written down, that’s when you’ve become a writer.’

I would argue this is just a symptom of changes that happen in our subconscious. At some point, we allow the creative part of our mind the freedom to look around. Not to just peek through the keyhole, but to really see the good, and the bad, and the beauty of a thing.

And seeing that beauty can feel pretty uncomfortable at first.

It seems to me that we become writers, or artists, of any kind, for that matter, in the moments when we get our ass out of the way of that part that’s deep down inside of us, the part that knows exactly what it’s doing, and we let it do what the fuck it needs to do. And that handoff becomes easier with repetition.

After we’d gotten a respectable distance from my mother-in-law’s passing, the funeral was done, and all the inevitable family drama was dying down, I got back to work on my little brick wall. Without the wounds being so raw, I was able to make the decisions needed to get the thing back on track.

It took a little repainting, and the first GE sign needed to be scrapped entirely, but I was able to complete the project. Unfortunately, I’d mismeasured the opening, so it wouldn’t fit into the electrical box.

Now I’ve got no idea what the hell to do with it. Maybe I’ll list it on eBay or Etsy.

Since the little wall was completed, I started on a larger, more detailed piece, still in 1/35 scale, which I’m looking forward to sharing in the coming weeks.