by jo packham

Art is something that has a different “definition” for each of us. For some of us it is painting on a canvas, for some it is creating collectable pieces of jewelry, for some it is the sanding and rubbing of wood until it is as smooth as glass.

And Art is something that is created for different reasons for each of us. For some it is a hobby; for some it is our livelihood; and for some it is just the most practical, inexpensive, and creative way to get the job done.

That is what Art was for my mom … only I don’t think she ever realized how artistic she really was. She was creative yet practical and she was extravagant in a very frugal sort of way. She always reminded me that we were never to consider ourselves “poor” … broke maybe … but never “poor” and she loved a beautiful home so to have what she wanted she simply found a way to create one that she could afford all by herself. My mom painted every room in our house every year … and always a different color. She did not  have the financial resources to hire someone to do it for her so she taught me. I think I was only six when my mom put a paintbrush in my hand and showed me the proper way to load the brush, how to put the paint on the wall so that there were no streaks, and always how to properly clean up after myself.

I didn’t mind painting with my mom. She needed the help and it was better than when I had to clean out closets for her or scrub the kitchen floor. And I loved the immediate satisfaction of seeing a room change right before my eyes.

In fact painting my room with the skills my mom had given me, all by myself, is one of my fondest memories. When I was about 11, I announced to my mom that I wanted to paint and decorate my room, all by myself. I took my money from picking peonies, got on the bus, and went to town. I bought several gallons of chartreuse paint. It has always been my favorite color. I then proceeded on my journey to purchase a cotton candy pink bedspread and matching pillow shams, ruffled cotton candy pink drapes for the window, and a cotton candy pink fuzzy bathroom rug to put by my bed to keep my feet warm on winter mornings.

I went home and while my mom was at work I painted my room, including the ceiling the brightest boldest happiest chartreuse green you can ever imagine. I let it dry, hung my drapes, made my bed, and stood back to enjoy my “work”. My mom was stunned by my new room, in fact every time I left for school she would close the door so that when she walked down the hall she would not have to see what I had done to a room in her home. But she never said a word and I loved that room, I still love that room. It was a safe happy place for me all through my teen years. It was my own personal shelter in the storm … and I had created it all by myself!

I taught my children to paint just like my mom taught me. We painted Sara’s bedroom every year. One year we took cans of spray paint and grafittied the walls, one year it was light pink, one year it was all white, one year it had gardens painted and imaginary windows.

When Justin was in college he moved in with his girlfriend and one Friday morning he called me with a sound in his voice I had never heard. He asked me if I could drive to Logan NOW and because it was so unlike him I got in my car and left. When I got to their new home I pulled up in the driveway and tried to remain calm. It looked like a vacant building that should have long ago been condemned. What was left of the grass was brown and filled with weeds, the screen door was falling off its hinges, and the there was little paint left anywhere on the outside of the house. I walked in the living room and Justin and his girlfriend were sitting on the couch very close to tears. I said, “Sweetheart, is this your new place?” and he looked at me with a look that tears a mother’s heart apart and said, “Mom, I think I have made a huge mistake here.” After a little discussion I learned that they had rented the house because they wanted to have barbecues in the yard with their friends and they wanted a place that was “theirs” to fix up.  But, oh my hell, you should have seen the inside of that house … it should have been torn down.

So I cheerfully and confidently said, “Not a problem … everything can be fixed with a new coat of paint”. We went to Lowes and bought a different color for every room, and they were having a special on “Persian” rugs so we bought those too.

We went home and in 2 days, 4 of us painted that house from top to bottom, inside out. We even painted new enamel in the bathtub. It was fabulous. We did have one minor set back while painting the living room – which was quite large. We had 4 gallons of paint mixed, Addie started at one side and Justin started at the other side. When they met in the middle they discovered that the clerk at the store had mixed two different colors of paint … that did not look good together … so one half of the room was taupe and one half was kind of this golden pee color. I asked the kids why they hadn’t noticed and they simply said they thought they would dry to be the same color. So we went back to Lowe’s, had them remix 4 new gallons, and started again. This time starting them both in the middle of the room and moving to the sides.

When Sara and Brett were 5 months pregnant with the twins they bought a new house. It was all white and Sara hated it … she just couldn’t live in an all white house so we painted it … all of it. The night we got started Brett was standing in the kitchen with “that look” on his face. He said to me, “Jo, this is a really big house”. And I said, “Just look at one room at a time, one wall at a time – DO NOT look down the hall, We will get it done before the babies come.” It took us 2 weeks but it was done when Sara went into labor 3 months early.

Since then, among other things, Justin and I have painted the ceiling in our store Ruby & Begonia to look like aged copper, Justin has painted his latest new apartment, and I taught my 4-year-old grandchildren how to properly “load” a brush and how to paint the walls so there are no streaks. There are walls in Sara’s house that they have painted all by themselves and they are so very proud of their “art work”.

Art for my mom was in the form of sewing clothes that could not afford to be store bought and painting her home to be colorful and beautiful, always fresh and new.  It was practical, a necessity, always a labor of love, a time-shared, memories made, and her own individual artistic expression.

For her daughter, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren it is the same.