Accidentally Perfect
“That’s it! I’m leaving!” she screamed in his face.
This wasn’t the first time she threatened to leave. She did this every time he lost his muse. Owen knew this routine all too well; they would fight, she would leave, he would create a new masterpiece and she would come back saying she was sorry and that she loved him. Whenever the screaming started, he would send their son into the spare room to watch Sesame Street, which he knew she hated but he didn’t want their son seeing them like this.
He understood why she would get frustrated. He had a masters in Art and a doctorate in modernist acrylic painting. He was the new artist on the rise with curators lining up to get him in their galleries. His business partner, John Wisemen, was pushing him to keep producing new mind-boggling and provocative pieces. Owen had many fans and even more patrons begging for his work
John was the one who created the interest in his creations. Owen didn’t know what the man had said, nor did he care. All he knew was that John helped him get discovered and made him famous in the art circle.
Owen married his wife, Isabella, three months after they started dating. She was a beautiful muse, who at one time he had loved to paint. Isabella loved him; he knew that. She also never meant what she said every time he lost his creative edge … maybe. It was hard to say anymore.
As he watched Isabella pack her things, he started in on the usual speech, even though it never worked on her. She gave him the look he understood to mean ‘fuck off, let me pack my shit and go to my mother’s house.’ She didn’t once look at Joshua or stopped to say goodbye - she never did.
When Isabella was pregnant with Joshua, she had hoped for a daughter so she would have company shopping. Owen knew she was a little disappointed when she found out they were going to have a boy, but she grew to love him. However, the moment Joshua started showing interests that were similar to his father’s viewpoint, Isabella started to distance herself from him. He never said anything to her about it; it was just the way their family worked.
Once the door slammed shut behind her, Owen sat down on the couch behind Joshua, who was sitting on the floor watching his program. His thoughts drifted from the painting he was working on to the reasons why he loved his wife, to his son right in front of him. As his mind wandered, Owen slowly fell asleep watching TV. The last thing he remembered was his son asking him a question. He couldn’t remember what he had said, but he had said yes to whatever it was. He could never say no to his son.
When he woke up, he was surprised to see it was morning. He couldn’t believe he slept the entire afternoon and night away when he should have been trying to find his muse. Joshua was curled up next to him, holding onto a box of crayons. He smiled and looked down at his son, taking in the blond hair, freckles like Isabella’s, and long, skinny monkey fingers. When Joshua was awake he would stare at things with his dark brown eyes so intently, almost as though he was memorizing the features of whatever held his attention.
Owen decided that today, just like every other time Isabella left, he would make pancakes for Joshua. Isabella never let their son have pancakes because they were too sweet for him and she didn’t want her son growing up on sugar. He felt this was his retaliation for all the trouble Isabella caused by leaving him and Joshua.
When Joshua awoke an hour later, Owen was there to greet him with a fresh plate of smiling pancakes out of chocolate chips and strawberries with a dash of whipped cream for hair. Pancakes were meant to smile, or at least that’s what his mother always told him.
“Morning, daddy! Did you see your painting?” Joshua questioned while looking at the pancakes with his eager eyes.
“No. Why would I? It’s not finished and I probably won’t finish it until I figure out what to do with it,” Owen answered. He was still holding the plate out towards Joshua, waiting for him to take the plate.
“But daddy! I fixed it!” Joshua whined, still not reaching to take the pancakes. “Go look!”
“Alright, little man, if that’s what you want me to do.” Owen went into his work room and looked at the painting. His heart stopped. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at.
“JOSHUA! GET IN HERE NOW!” he yelled.
“Do you like it, daddy? Do you? I knew you would! It looks just like the first one we did together, but this one is better!” It was obvious by the size of Joshua’s grin that he thought he’d done a good thing.
He looked Joshua straight in the eye. “You drew on my canvas with crayon. Do you remember what I told you about doing that?”
The first time Joshua showed an interest in his art, it had been around the same time he’d started using coloring books. Joshua had ruined the first commission Owen had ever worked on, thinking it was a coloring book. Owen hadn’t been mad then. He simply explained that whenever he wanted to make art with daddy to say so and he would get the proper supplies for them.
“I did ask. You wouldn’t wake up so I started to paint with my crayons. It looks really good Daddy! Just look at it - like really, really look at it.” Joshua gave his dad a pleading look, complete with big, sad puppy eyes.
No man alive could stand strong against puppy eyes, and Owen was no exception. With a sigh, he returned his gaze to the ruined canvas. He had started off this new piece with a white circular canvas, and then threw random streaks and splatters of blue, red, and yellow all over it - and that was as far as he had gotten. He had an image in his head and he couldn’t quite figure out how to get it onto canvas. No matter what he tried, it never looked right.
Joshua had figured it out though. He had only used three colors: green, orange, and purple. Whenever he found a blank spot of canvas between where blue and red touched, he filled it in with purple crayon. Where there was a gap in the yellow and red, he used an orange crayon. For every open section of canvas between the drips of primary, the coordinating secondary was filled in. It was such a simple concept, but it was perfect. It was what Owen had been looking for.
Owen stared at his son. He knew that Joshua was creative and very smart, but his son could still amaze him with every new day. “Joshua, this is amazing. How did you think of this?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you left the wholes for me to color in like my books.” Joshua stared back at his father with a happy grin.
“This was what I was looking for. I need to call John.” Owen left the room and grabbed the phone. He paused and thought for a moment. “Hey, little man, come here for a second would you?”
“Yeah, daddy?” Joshua asked.
“How did you know to use those colors?”
“Well, I found out on accentent-”
“You mean accident?”
“Yeah, that. Well, I found out on that that when you mix yellow and red you get orange. And I thought I should show you this accentent, too.”
Joshua was being honest and Owen could tell. It was brilliant. This perfect masterpiece was purposely started by him and accidentally finished by his son. John was going to eat it up and he knew that the patrons would want more father-son paintings.
“How about we call John later and you and I eat some breakfast? After that ,we can go and do some real painting.”
“Yeah!”
Owen led Joshua back into the studio and started to teach him all about art, leaving the phone off the receiver so he wouldn’t be disturbed while spending time with his son.
This wasn’t the first time she threatened to leave. She did this every time he lost his muse. Owen knew this routine all too well; they would fight, she would leave, he would create a new masterpiece and she would come back saying she was sorry and that she loved him. Whenever the screaming started, he would send their son into the spare room to watch Sesame Street, which he knew she hated but he didn’t want their son seeing them like this.
He understood why she would get frustrated. He had a masters in Art and a doctorate in modernist acrylic painting. He was the new artist on the rise with curators lining up to get him in their galleries. His business partner, John Wisemen, was pushing him to keep producing new mind-boggling and provocative pieces. Owen had many fans and even more patrons begging for his work
John was the one who created the interest in his creations. Owen didn’t know what the man had said, nor did he care. All he knew was that John helped him get discovered and made him famous in the art circle.
Owen married his wife, Isabella, three months after they started dating. She was a beautiful muse, who at one time he had loved to paint. Isabella loved him; he knew that. She also never meant what she said every time he lost his creative edge … maybe. It was hard to say anymore.
As he watched Isabella pack her things, he started in on the usual speech, even though it never worked on her. She gave him the look he understood to mean ‘fuck off, let me pack my shit and go to my mother’s house.’ She didn’t once look at Joshua or stopped to say goodbye - she never did.
When Isabella was pregnant with Joshua, she had hoped for a daughter so she would have company shopping. Owen knew she was a little disappointed when she found out they were going to have a boy, but she grew to love him. However, the moment Joshua started showing interests that were similar to his father’s viewpoint, Isabella started to distance herself from him. He never said anything to her about it; it was just the way their family worked.
Once the door slammed shut behind her, Owen sat down on the couch behind Joshua, who was sitting on the floor watching his program. His thoughts drifted from the painting he was working on to the reasons why he loved his wife, to his son right in front of him. As his mind wandered, Owen slowly fell asleep watching TV. The last thing he remembered was his son asking him a question. He couldn’t remember what he had said, but he had said yes to whatever it was. He could never say no to his son.
When he woke up, he was surprised to see it was morning. He couldn’t believe he slept the entire afternoon and night away when he should have been trying to find his muse. Joshua was curled up next to him, holding onto a box of crayons. He smiled and looked down at his son, taking in the blond hair, freckles like Isabella’s, and long, skinny monkey fingers. When Joshua was awake he would stare at things with his dark brown eyes so intently, almost as though he was memorizing the features of whatever held his attention.
Owen decided that today, just like every other time Isabella left, he would make pancakes for Joshua. Isabella never let their son have pancakes because they were too sweet for him and she didn’t want her son growing up on sugar. He felt this was his retaliation for all the trouble Isabella caused by leaving him and Joshua.
When Joshua awoke an hour later, Owen was there to greet him with a fresh plate of smiling pancakes out of chocolate chips and strawberries with a dash of whipped cream for hair. Pancakes were meant to smile, or at least that’s what his mother always told him.
“Morning, daddy! Did you see your painting?” Joshua questioned while looking at the pancakes with his eager eyes.
“No. Why would I? It’s not finished and I probably won’t finish it until I figure out what to do with it,” Owen answered. He was still holding the plate out towards Joshua, waiting for him to take the plate.
“But daddy! I fixed it!” Joshua whined, still not reaching to take the pancakes. “Go look!”
“Alright, little man, if that’s what you want me to do.” Owen went into his work room and looked at the painting. His heart stopped. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at.
“JOSHUA! GET IN HERE NOW!” he yelled.
“Do you like it, daddy? Do you? I knew you would! It looks just like the first one we did together, but this one is better!” It was obvious by the size of Joshua’s grin that he thought he’d done a good thing.
He looked Joshua straight in the eye. “You drew on my canvas with crayon. Do you remember what I told you about doing that?”
The first time Joshua showed an interest in his art, it had been around the same time he’d started using coloring books. Joshua had ruined the first commission Owen had ever worked on, thinking it was a coloring book. Owen hadn’t been mad then. He simply explained that whenever he wanted to make art with daddy to say so and he would get the proper supplies for them.
“I did ask. You wouldn’t wake up so I started to paint with my crayons. It looks really good Daddy! Just look at it - like really, really look at it.” Joshua gave his dad a pleading look, complete with big, sad puppy eyes.
No man alive could stand strong against puppy eyes, and Owen was no exception. With a sigh, he returned his gaze to the ruined canvas. He had started off this new piece with a white circular canvas, and then threw random streaks and splatters of blue, red, and yellow all over it - and that was as far as he had gotten. He had an image in his head and he couldn’t quite figure out how to get it onto canvas. No matter what he tried, it never looked right.
Joshua had figured it out though. He had only used three colors: green, orange, and purple. Whenever he found a blank spot of canvas between where blue and red touched, he filled it in with purple crayon. Where there was a gap in the yellow and red, he used an orange crayon. For every open section of canvas between the drips of primary, the coordinating secondary was filled in. It was such a simple concept, but it was perfect. It was what Owen had been looking for.
Owen stared at his son. He knew that Joshua was creative and very smart, but his son could still amaze him with every new day. “Joshua, this is amazing. How did you think of this?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you left the wholes for me to color in like my books.” Joshua stared back at his father with a happy grin.
“This was what I was looking for. I need to call John.” Owen left the room and grabbed the phone. He paused and thought for a moment. “Hey, little man, come here for a second would you?”
“Yeah, daddy?” Joshua asked.
“How did you know to use those colors?”
“Well, I found out on accentent-”
“You mean accident?”
“Yeah, that. Well, I found out on that that when you mix yellow and red you get orange. And I thought I should show you this accentent, too.”
Joshua was being honest and Owen could tell. It was brilliant. This perfect masterpiece was purposely started by him and accidentally finished by his son. John was going to eat it up and he knew that the patrons would want more father-son paintings.
“How about we call John later and you and I eat some breakfast? After that ,we can go and do some real painting.”
“Yeah!”
Owen led Joshua back into the studio and started to teach him all about art, leaving the phone off the receiver so he wouldn’t be disturbed while spending time with his son.