PK neither sips nor paints without funny bone

After years and years of successfully avoiding it, I reluctantly jumped on a bandwagon that should have ridden noisily and with great fanfare into the sunset without me.

Speaking of sunsets, mine turned out to look like the autumn sky — if it had suddenly turned a murky orange shade and sort of threw up on itself. Hmpf.

Yep, my sister somehow shamed me into it.

“Come on, it’s better than sitting at home!” she said.

“It will be a blast!” she said.

“It’s my treat!” she said before noting: “Oh, did I mention I already signed us up?”


So there I sat, frowning like the world-famous feline Garfield after someone stole his lasagna and gave into peer pressure by engaging in a craze that seems to have captured the interest of America, if not the entire world: a sip-and-paint party. Ugh.

Let me tell you something right now, my good people, there is not an artistic bone in this body. Not a single one. In fact, I think it may have gotten kicked out in order to make way for an extra-large funny bone.

Secondly, did I mention that I don’t drink? It’s not that I’m against it in moderation, of course. It’s just that whenever I’ve “sipped” as it were, I have found myself saying even sillier stuff than is my standard saying of stuff, see?

Hmm. Come to think of it, it might be more enjoyable for all of you if I cracked open a bottle ever week when I sit down to write this column.

I am totally serious about my lack of artistic aptitude. If it was a ship, I’d advise all onboard to abandon, capisce?

As proof, my particular rendition of a boat looks remarkably like the Rorschach ink blot test, a’ight?

So, you can just imagine how handy that funny bone seemed to come in as I put paint to canvas and attempted to re-create the teacher’s picturesque scene of a horizon at sunset with a ship sailing along the ocean and past some lovely tree-lined landscape.

My offering made me consider another type of scape altogether — as in, ESCAPE. Which I did for a few precious moments. I stuck my brush back into the rinse-water-cup thingy.

As is my nature, I researched the origins of this painful, er, I mean, pleasant pastime. As far as I can tell, the very first person to ever host a S&P soiree was a gal named Wendy Lovoy who, in 2002, when she was 28, quit her corporate job to pursue a career as a painter.

Apparently, Wendy got some friends and some of their friends to gather in a little studio outside Birmingham, Ala.

Another early adapter is a gal named Mariella Wilson, born in Bulgaria but now a native of the UK, who founded the Paint Party Social Club. At self-proclaimed first certified wedding planner in Bulgaria, she turned to the biz after the pandemic hit her wedding planner business harder than the Hope Diamond, yo.

“I saw an opportunity for me to use all my knowledge and experience to make people happy by painting whilst sipping a glass of nice wine. This isn’t fine art; it’s fun art!” Wilson said.

Let’s just say my final rendition is a classic PK — it’s quite funny … looking, that is.

Her final lie, um, I mean suggestion was, “You’ll feel inspired by your own talent.”

Sadly, I think the right side of my brain was on strike the night I went sipping a diet soda and loathing myself — I mean enjoying the flowing of creative juices. But as soon as I was back home, I rightly returned those pulp-filled juices back into a dark shelf in the back of my bedroom closet — right next to my painting — which is time out for bad behavior and currently facing the wall.

Kimerer is a columnist with zero talent in the paint world but who’s considering taking up inkblot art as a future occupation. Contact her with snaps of your own disasters, er, paint party extravaganzas at pakimerer@icloud.com.


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