Along with Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood and Sesame Street, a surprising chunk of my PBS viewing time as a kid was taken up by Bob Ross and The Joy of Painting. Everyone knows his famous catchphrase, "There are no mistakes, just happy accidents." He would then proceed to blanket entire canvases with "happy clouds", "happy trees", and "happy flowers". The man was so perennially cheerful, I thought he and Mr. Fred Rogers must have drunk the same well water.
What fascinated me as I watched him paint was not his brushwork. Instead, he would use palette knives and spatulas to fashion a recognizable landscape on a previously blank canvas in a matter of seconds. During one episode as he rapidly laid down elements of a sky and mountainscape, he mentioned he was challenged about the validity of this manner of painting. While he had nothing but respect for traditional artists who brushed in every leaf on every branch of every tree in their compositions, he saw nothing wrong with expediency. Realizing that an artist's successful livelihood depended on quality and quantity, Ross summed up his opinion, "Do you want to be a traditional artist or one that eats regularly?"
In the fall of '80, my 6th-grade math and spelling teacher, Mrs. Sprinkle, gave our class the assignment to craft an original story using as many words as possible from that week's spelling list.
That evening, I got a call from one of my buds down the street saying that a massive neighborhood game of hide and seek was going down as soon as it got dark. Well, crap. The only thing standing between me and that tournament of mayhem was this piece of homework.
I stared down at a blank sheet of ruled paper and my textbook open to the spelling list. How could I rapidly craft a coherent story based on a random list of words? I looked out my window - the sun was setting. Crap! Focus, Wayne!
Looking to my usual PBS line up for inspiration, I found none from neither Bert and Ernie nor Mr. Rogers. My mind then drifted to Mr. Ross's happy trees. I shook my head thinking it would suck to have to paint every single leaf - kind of like having to use all these words. I wish I had one of his shortcuts to use all....these....words.....at.....once.
Like a blinding, white stab of light, I had an "A-Ha!" moment. Kind of like Archimedes yelling, "Eureka" after discovering buoyancy, but not nearly that profound. I started scribbling out my story, congratulating myself on my yet unknowingly ill-conceived flash of 6th-grade genius.
Paraphrased here, for the privileged reader, some 40 years after they were first penned, is that story.
"Hey, Bob?"
"Yeah, Joe?"
"Do you have this week's list of spelling words?"
"Why, yes, Joe. I sure do. They are, <insert random string of that weeks' spelling words>."
I was very proud of myself and beaming like a Cheshire cat when I turned in that masterful manuscript. Mrs. Sprinkle was not nearly as enthused. She was, however, very charitable and did not fail my sparse composition. Further, she took great pains to explain I'd effectively short-circuited the intent of the exercise which was to foster creativity and command of the English language. I was wise enough to read the room and decided to not say that I thought it was actually very creative.
Mrs. Sprinkle repeated the assignment several times. For those instances, I actually did put in the work, and lo and behold, actually enjoyed it. With all due respect to Bob Ross, sometimes you do have to brush in all the leaves on all the branches of all the trees. Sometimes, the hard work is necessary. Sometimes, there's no easy way out.
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