Purple Rain

The morning started out so great. I got to the levee and the sunrise was spectacular. I got right to work and made good progress on painting the river. I decided to paint on the left side of the fisherman first and go to the bottom of the panel, then come back up. I figured the right side would be more complicated because of the fisherman’s shadow and the ripples where he is standing.

At some point in my life, I learned to layer color. It doesn’t really matter the media, I use three or four blues or greens or whatever color I am using. It gives the piece depth and texture. Figuring out how to negotiate taking three or four colors down the levee wall has been one of my big challenges. Last weekend someone gave me some tool belts and I thought my problem waa solved. I could strap on two buckets to my harness with carbiners and then stick my brushes in the tool belt with a smaller can of paint. Today, I used a third carabiner and took down three half full gallons of paint plus a mostly full quart of purple. This was a mistake.

First off, this was my third straight day of working on the levee. All that paint was too heavy and my back started hurting immediately. I worked through the pain. After two and a half hours of painting, I decided I needed a break. When I got to the top, my legs were trembling. I had a snack and decided to go ahead and ride my bike over to the other side to look at my progess. I then rode up and looked at all the murals and then came over to the levee side. Honestly, I should have called it a day, but it was only 10:00 and I wanted to at least get the river done.

So I strapped on all my shit, composing a letter to the birds in my head—Dear Birds, Please don’t drop your shit on my mural. And Dear Wind, quit depositing sand and debris on my mural. I descended down the wall and stopped right next to my fisherman’s head. I leaned down to rub a dusty patch off the face of the mural and in slow mo, I saw purple paint fall from the bucket in my tool belt. I froze and looked down, my foot was covered in pueple, plus there was a pretty good size purple splat starting to drip down the face of the panel. Shit. What should I do? I weighed my options. I decided the best course of action was to try and take a few steps over to the blank panel next to mine and go up and see if I had anything to clean the paint with in my truck. That was my second mistake.

I moved my foot and realized the paint was slippery. I slid across the mural with the rope arcing me out into the middle of the river I’d just painted. The other end of the rope fell down the wall, dragging the purple puddle with it. You can imagine what I was saying. One good thing was the rope only allowed me to fall a bit, so I landed smack in the middle of my river, but not in the splash up. So then I was frozen in place, standing on one foot. Purple paint everywhere. And somehow I had also ripped out a chunk of my hair.

I rubbed my head and again assessed the situation. I couldn’t hop up the wall on one foot and I didnt want purple footprints on my fish or sky. I couldn’t go back through the splatter either; my only choice was down. To minimize my footprints, I wiped my sopping foot on my calf, then I started down, painting over the purple as I descended. When I got to the bottom, I moved over to the slab of concrete next to my mural and prepared to haul myself up. That’s when I noticed that part of the rope had fallen in the gray paint bucket.

When I finally made it to the top, I had unhooked everything and sat down. The girl working next to me came over and said, “Well, the good thing about paint, is you can paint over it. “

I keep telling myself it could have been worse. In reality, it was only a little paint. I didn’t fall in the river or lose amy supplies. And I also learned that next time I will listen to my body and quit while I’m ahead.