It was late and her feet ached, but she couldn’t fight the desire. The desire had turned into a need.

As she walked in, she passed up the pens, the pencils, the charcoal, the watercolors and everything that was familiar and comfortable and headed straight for an old cluttered oak desk drawer. Once reaching her destination, she became tentative, remembering what was inside. The drawer was haphazardly filled with tubes of barely touched oil paints and long handled brushes. They were once required for a class she had taken, but the frustration of working with such a medium overcame her and she tossed them into her drawer never wanting to lay eyes on them ever again. She had given up. But that was several months ago and tonight was different. She was different.

She slowly began to slide the drawer out and away from its home, but it wasn’t budging. The heat and the humidity of the night was making the oak swell and stick. It was as if it was mocking her, asking her if she was sure that this was indeed what she wanted. But, tonight she wanted . . . . . No, she needed something that was bold and thick and colorful. Tonight she wanted to work with something that would allow her to instantly express what she needed to say; something that didn’t require her to plan things out or think too much; something that would help her explain all the feelings that seemed to vibrate within the depths of her belly. She needed something immediate and nothing else would do.

A wild mix of impatience and eagerness took over and she gave the handle a strong and forceful yank. Finally, the drawer gave in and released itself with such a powerful burst that it caused her to lose her balance and fall flat on her ass. She caught herself grinning at that moment, unsure if it was because of the comedy of the situation or because of her small victory. Either way, she didn’t care.

She swung the legs around to the side of her and grabbed the edge of the drawer, using it as leverage to pull herself up onto her knees. Her eyes widened as they peered over, re-discovering a long lost treasure. Also within the drawer lay a palette, a palette knife, old rags, a jar of turpentine and a pre-mixed concoction of turpentine and linseed oil. She wrapped all the supplies up in her arms and clumsily scrambled to get back on her feet without the ability to use her hands. She dumped them on top of the desk next to an old radio. She flipped the switch and let the music echo off the bare walls of her room and encapsulate her. While she placed her brushes into the jar of turpentine, she gave herself a quick reminder to hang something up on those walls, deciding that they had been empty and plain for far too long. They needed to be brought to life. But this was not the time to give it much thought. The walls would have to wait just a moment longer.

Next, she made her way over to her closet where she stored an old left-over stretched canvas. Her excitement and anticipation was putting an extra bounce in her step and she gleefully pushed the closet door aside. She pulled at the canvas’s frame and slid it along the floor. Once out in full light, she examined it briefly with her eyes. It was bigger than she remembered. There was a lot of space to fill. Still, it would have to do. She grabbed both edges and hoisted it into a more manageable carrying position and made her way back and propped it up on the easel that sat waiting.

Her mind obviously on a mission to get to the task at hand, she quickly began undressing herself without even remembering to pull down the shade over her window. She started by kicking off her Keds in transit to her closet. Trapped pebbles of sand escaped from the heels of her feet, leaving a trail back home to her easel, making sure she would remember how to find her way. Then off came her pants and were quickly replaced by an old pair of well-worn jeans. Her painting jeans. They always felt right and felt comfortable the moment she put them on. She let out a soft laugh as she remembered someone telling her “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have. You can use your clothing to send a message about your ambitions by wearing clothes that reflect what you aspire to be.”

Next, off went her hoodie, tank top and bikini. She didn’t bother to put on a bra as she reached in and snatched an old blue button down work shirt that once belonged to her father. She loosely rolled up the sleeves while she thought that there was no need for socks or shoes and decided that she would just paint barefoot. She was ready.

She walked over to where she had everything set up and immediately started squeezing the paints in giant gobs onto different spots along the edge of her palette. She didn’t think much about which colors she was choosing. She just grabbed and squeezed, grabbed and squeezed. Then she took her palette knife and quickly began mixing blues with whites, browns with reds and yellows, and greens with oranges. Meanwhile, she squeezed a little of the linseed oil concoction into each new color combination and blended it in, creating a smooth and malleable medium that glistened. She repeated and continued this process urgently over and over until she created a palette full of possibilities.

When she was finished mixing the last color combination of three parts titanium white, two parts cadmium yellow medium and one part vermillion hue to create a glowing light of soft orange, she thought for a fleeting second as she quickly glanced over to her brushes and then returned the glance back over to her canvas. With her knife still in her right hand she, she tilted her head to the side and blinked with curiosity. The paint brushes were definitely the more traditional method for applying paint, but something was taking over her and telling her to just do it. Let go, and do it.

Unafraid of the blank white screen in front of her this time, she impulsively scooped up her new hue creation onto her palette knife and brought it over to the canvas. The sound of the knife scraping across the surface accompanied her as she let out a gasp of exhilaration. This felt unlike anything she ever felt before. It was liberating. She was no longer bound by unsaid rules and regulations. And she held all the tools she needed in her right hand.

All of these new feelings began to overwhelm and cause her to give pause. It was almost too much and it frightened her a little. She was afraid of losing control.

Then there was silence on the radio. Instinctively, she reached over and turned up the volume dial; as if she knew that someone was about to say something important to her. And then a single voice filled the room.

“Birds flying high, you know how I feel”

The women’s voice was rich, velvety, soothing and commanded her attention all at the same time.

“Sun in the sky you know how I feel”

It was powerful and yet full of emotion, just like she felt.

“Reeds driftin' on by you know how I feel”

And yet the voice was controlled and guided as it was released into the lyrics of the song. There was no doubt that this woman was unafraid and was in charge.

“It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life, yeah”

She felt her own nerves calm and she regained control. She returned to her color palette.

“It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good”

The horns in the song began to chime in, assisting the woman in her song, but never taking over. It was still hers and nothing was clearer than that.

The staccato of the instruments gave her a rhythm that would last her through the night. She continued to work feverishly but steady throughout the late evening and into the early hours of the morning. New colors were mixed and discovered and then applied to the canvas. She never forgot the things that she had learned and allowed imperfections and errors lay. She forgave herself for the mistakes that she made and pushed forward never faltering again. Her focus stayed constant and she never lost site of the real underlying goal.

After several hours, the painting was nearly finished, but something was missing. It just needed something and it was starting to irritate her that she couldn’t figure it out. She stepped away from the canvas for the first time since she began this journey. Exhausted and sore she leaned her back against the wall and slowly began to slide it downward as she bent her knees in front of her. When her rear end hit the floor, she hugged her knees, but her eyes never left the canvas. She silently examined the painting and how its vibrant hues, bold lines and colorful spaces created a form in front of her. A form that was warm and inviting and new. Bright yellows and oranges gave way to light shown on a face. Dark reds and blues and brown presented wild hair and shadows.

As she continued to exam her image, the back of her left hand unconsciously moved down along the edge of her face and hugged the curves of her jaw line while her index finger trailed and stroked across her cheek. A familiar light chill went down her spine.

Once again everything became clear and she knew what was missing. She slowly pushed herself off the floor and off the wall and stepped back to her canvas. She began confidently singing the song that calmed her nerves several hours ago as she mixed together a new shade of paint.

“Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
That's what I mean”

She pulled out a paint brush from her now cloudy jar full of used turpentine and utensils. After wiping the brush dry on the well used rag, she pushed it into a light blue swatch of paint and then coolly and calmly brought it to the canvas. With full concentration and in one seamless but determined stroke, she re-created the line that she once thought had destroyed her life.

“And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me”

After stepping back for the second time, she felt herself let out a sigh that sounded like she had just gotten the wind knocked out of her. There were no words created by man to express everything she was feeling, but now there was a painting.

“And I’m feeling Good”