I don't think I'd ever had artistic skill in the traditional sense. I mean I'm a wordsmith of the highest order, but painting or drawing has never been a strong suit of mine (or not that I've ever seriously tried). Approaching Val's painting set was a lot like looking at a math problem, I knew the base components of a painting, but I had no idea how those things got put together to actually create the work. So I basically stared at the canvas, and the paints for a while before I got the courage to put pain to paper. And that's when I found while not a great artist I could actually do a decent job of it, as in people could actually make out what I'd done as real objects.
I did find I have a fairly boring view of the world, people always just standing around going about their day, not even a pretty landscape or anything, but since getting better shots would require me to move more with my hip I gave up on that idea right quick (the pain got better, but it still hurt and I tried to do as little as I could with the injury). I did think I captured the imagery outside my office quite well. Well enough that I felt confident enough to invite Val up to see what I had painted (and to brag because of course I would). He arrived and actually wasn't a jerk about my paintings which was nice, especially as a change of pace from his usual dickheadness to me. Probably because he bought me the set as a gift and mocking me would be like ragging on his own gift. He did after a time of lookin at the fifteen or so paintings I'd done (I'd been fairly busy) ask one horrible question.
"Why did you keep painting this one guy?" And with that question the gateway to insanity was opened.
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