Write about your first crush.

My first crush, ironically enough, was named Mark. That’s my husband’s name.

I was always boy crazy. Maybe it had something to do with living in a house of only girls. In preschool, there was a little boy named Mark. He was had skin the color of toffee and jet black hair his mom gelled in a side part. I don’t know what I liked so much about him, but I do know I was excited for him to come to my fourth birthday party. It was a Baby Bop (a la Barney) themed backyard bash. I wore a dress with a primary-colored confetti top and white pleated skirting, embellished with a red, yellow and blue fabric flower on the shoulder, and white tights and white patent leather Maryjanes, much to my mother’s chagrin—it was the middle of summer. After the children waited patiently, barefoot atop the crabgrass in the south Texas sun for the opportunity to take a swing at a green and purple dinosaur piñata, my mother and I stood by the front door of our home as we said our goodbyes to guests.

I was a little peanut, tiny and frail, and rumor has it that I insisted upon being carried frequently until I was about six years old. This day, my legs were wrapped around my mom’s hips, with one of her hands cradling my bottom as she used the other arm to hand out goodie bags and side hugs. I patiently waited as little Mark and his mom approached us in line to exit. An idea had struck me, and I was brave enough to pull it off. I knew just what to do.

My mom made quick small talk with his, and as she did so, little Mark with his side part was behind and beneath me. I released the arms that had been embracing my mom, threw my head back, and let my body drop toward him, then planted a kiss on his cheek!

My mom quickly placed her palm between my shoulder blades and lifted me back up, laughing alongside his mom at the absurdity of the unanticipated body contortion. I don’t know if they noticed the kiss. They didn’t know that the move wasn’t accidental. That the move was me making my move. Their goodbye came to a close, and he was gone.

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I remain brave. Forward. My first “real” kiss, many years later, had the same level of audacity. It’s with this same audaciousness that I switch the focus to what I came to the blog to share today: my latest crush.

This crush was still a one-sided infatuation, as I assume the prompt was alluding to. But in the end it was a crush in another sense of the word–a goal crushed.

My latest painting is one that was many years in the making. My first attempt at painting from this particular reference photo was years ago, when I took a painting class with David Dunlop.

It’s not great, but it was better than what I had completed before. I tried my hand at entering it into a local art show in 2019 and it was rejected. Looking back, thank goodness for that disappointment! I was not ready to debut my work at that stage in my practice.

I knew I wanted to give it another go, and I wrote about it when I drew out the sketch.

I even tried to do a small version, but when I realized that it wasn’t meeting the standard, I left it unfinished.

This recent version I started in September, hoping to enter it in the same art show the previous one was rejected from.

But, life had other plans.

It sat unfinished for months, and I shared it in that state back when I wrote about Measuring Success.

Impressionist Painting in Southport, Connecticut in Fairfield County

I’m pleased with the results! I see details I would do differently if I ever wanted to take another stab at it, but this one is done. I feel like I crushed it.

And boy, is it big! Here I am, for scale.