Gouache
🎨 Embracing uncertainty
To be honest, gouache kind of breaks my brain1. I learned watercolor first, and gouache is pretty similar, except it is also the opposite — watercolor’s evil twin. Seriously: watercolor is transparent, it needs to stay wet, and it layers from lightest to darkest. Whereas gouache is opaque (solid, not see-through), thick, and layers from darkest to lightest. Or, not, if you want. Add water, and it just acts like watercolor?! Also, you can combine them.
Even a few years in, I say all this with very little confidence. There’s so many variables (paint, paper, water, speed), and it’s hard to control. Yet I like the organic, misshapen effect of dragging pigment through water, watching it bloom in the fibers of the paper. There’s a lot of uncertainty throughout, but I mostly like it.
I’m learning to embrace uncertainty.
Over three years ago, when I was traveling in Asia, with my wife, Alli, my mom tripped and fell, and a CAT scan revealed a significant2, non-cancerous brain tumor. After surgery, things seemed like they were going well, until they really weren’t. I’m an only child, and my parents have been divorced for more than a decade. We came home for a month.
The past three years have been filled with uncertainty. How much cognitive impairment? Will she ever walk again? Should I sell her house? Is this facility the right place for her? Should I do more? Am I doing this right? Am I a bad son?3
I made mistakes, went to therapy, did what I had to. My mom is somewhat diminished, but I’m so grateful that she’s mostly happy, stable, and safe. I tell myself I’m doing my best, and more than ever, I do my best to believe that. I sold her house, I bought her car, and I’ve been managing her money and care from about two hours away for a couple years now. A week ago, I moved her to an assisted living facility about 35 minutes from me. It seems great — so much better than where she’s been, and I can visit easily.
Unpacking her things, I found a Daruma doll I had forgotten about. This Japanese talisman is a gift that brings good luck, and they’re colored differently for different kinds of wishes.
Getting ready to finish our trip and come back and care for my mom, I bought her a green Daruma, for health. About three years ago, I filled in one eye, with a promise to fill in the other when my mom’s pressure wound healed. I wasn’t sure it ever would — hospice nurses told us that in all likelihood, this wound would never heal, and ultimately kill her.
And yet it has healed. My mom and I filled in the other eye on the Daruma together this past weekend. My interest in art comes almost completely from my mom.
Brain injuries are tough. I don’t know how much more time I have with my mom. And even more painfully, over the last year I’ve watched as my aunt, my mom’s older sister, face her own struggles with mental illness4. She’s really suffering right now. I hope that changes soon. We’ll see.
I choose to paint with gouache, and that is a meaningful difference. Helping my mom and aunt is part of my role as son and nephew. In both cases, it’s very difficult to know, in the moment, if I’m doing it right. I learn what I can, reassure myself I’m doing my best, and celebrate what can be celebrated. I’ve had lots of help5. It’s been hard, but it’s life, and it’s not all bad.
In a few ways, including spelling. I can never remember how to spell it correctly.
“Grapefruit-sized,” they said. Seems impossible, but I’ll never forget it.
In order: Significant. No. Yes. No. Who knows? Unlikely, but it’s ok. Probably not.
I’m sorry, Judy.
♥️
Sending love to you, Josh! Was delighted to see your paintings.
Such a beautiful post Josh 🙏. My best to your fam.