Lauren B. Lentini

I’ve been thinking a lot about IB Economics.

In 10th grade, we had to make a choice: Art or Econ? I went with Econ, too scared I was talentless and would fail at Art. I survived Econ by writing stories on my essay tests, filling up lines with nonsense about Keynes and Supply-Side in a boxing ring, until I looked down at my IB test paper and realized I’d never practiced writing a straight answer. (I still passed.) And I never took another art class.

Now I’m staring down the barrel of my 20th high-school reunion, and I feel like I’m discovering art for the first time.

A couple of months ago, I was invited to submit a poster design for my theater company’s production of Pirates of Penzance. I wanted a simple watercolor background that was easier to paint than create digitally. I dug out some old acrylics that were mixed in with sewing supplies I once bought off Craigslist, and when my concept was chosen (hooray!), I invested in some actual watercolors to make a better version. It was our meet-cute, watercolor and me. There were sparks. I think I’m in love.

We’re still in the early stages of romance, where everything is butterflies in your stomach and rose-colored glasses, but you’re still worried it won’t work out. I’ve been burned by hobbies before; I have the abandoned supplies to prove it. I tried this time to buy just enough that I have the right tools to learn, but not so much that I’m wracked with guilt if we split. Some paper. Some brushes. Some colors in tubes and pans. A mixing tray.

I attempted a rough painting of autumn trees, which I didn’t hate, even if it looked like a child made it. Mostly I’ve been reveling in bringing color to paper, trying out different brushes and paints with wet-on-wet or wet-on-dry techniques. My Pinterest board and my YouTube playlist are packed with tutorials, and I started following #watercolor on Instagram. I’ve even looked up in-person classes, and I found two that start in January.

I can’t go without a big shout-out to the negative voice in my head. The one telling me that this is no time to put something new on my plate, that my hobby should be cleaning the house, taking care of my son, or losing weight. Or one of the hobbies I’ve previously cast aside. That I’ve wasted money on something that I’ll probably give up in a few months, if not a few weeks. And that I’ll never be any good, anyway, even if I keep at it.

But I’ve needed a new hobby, a creative outlet, with less of a time commitment than community theater. And, coincidentally, theater pointed me right to it. Being a total beginner is scary, but it’s also exhilarating.

There’s no point dwelling on where I’d be today if I’d chosen Art instead of Econ and picked up a paintbrush decades ago. Because I wouldn’t be here. And here is where I’m standing with that brand-new brush in my hand, possibly on the verge of something brilliant. Or just swooshing wide stripes and sloppy patterns. :shrug: Both good. Both fun.