Bob Ross and Happy Little Trees

        I love Bob Ross. Maybe I should restate that. I love the joy of painting with Bob Ross. I remember as a kid watching him paint the most beautiful landscapes and mountain scenery that you would swear you could actually see a herd of elk walking down the slopes or a flock of birds flying above the waves, all the while, mesmerized by his happy little voice, which was just so soothing and calm as he would give life to the world in his imagination.

        Since its television reincarnation, I sit and listen to him paint and think about what the outcome of his painting will be. Honestly, now it’s more, “what the hell was he smoking?” I mean who in the world besides Bob Ross is hippie enough to have a happy little pocket squirrel? Yes, I said Squirrel.

        There are times now I will sit and stare off into the distance — mostly because that’s what blind people do — and imagine I am looking at the mountains that he would paint. I spent most of my life in the mountains along the Wasatch Front or in the flooded marshes around the Great Salt Lake. Now that those memories and visions are burned into my memory, I have thought about picking up a brush and paint and attempting — which is the key word here — some of the scenes that I still have in my mind’s eye.

        The fact that I couldn’t draw a straight line using a ruler and pencil when I was sighted makes this idea even more daunting. I imagine that I could tap and scrape happy little mountains and trees onto a canvas, all the while my trusty little pocket squirrel chirping his approval. On the upside, I wouldn’t know if it was terrible or if people were trying to humor me by telling me it was great, even if it turned out like a Van Gogh before he learned how to express himself fully.

        I realize through this, that I use the same type of technique to illustrate my life and the people who are in it. Sometimes when I am thinking of someone or a particular event in my life, it is somehow drawn in my mind like an illustration in a magazine or book. I visualize a color pencil drawing caricature of the person that I am talking to, or sometimes, it’s a watercolor where just a bit too much water is used so it’s slightly out of focus.

        I guess it’s my way of keeping the variety in my memories. I don’t remember ever doing it prior to losing my vision but now it’s a daily activity. As conversation unfolds rather than seeing a photograph or video in my mind, I watch as the illustration is drawn out to represent the scenario or situation being discussed.

        I recently finished a book where the author, who writes for a nationally known magazine, regularly has illustrations drawn of him to represent each article that he submits. In his book, he says that he was puzzled and irritated by the way the illustrator portrayed him.

        In his words…

        "I didn’t think he had much range as an illustrator. He usually portrayed me as a clueless moron or depraved psycho. Actually, that’s not completely true; he sometimes came up with hybrids of these, depraved moron or clueless psycho.  I could always count on several constants — yellow bloodshot eyeballs, an oversized red nose and way more blue mascara than I usually wear. When I confronted him with my concerns he said he thought of me more as a sexual deviant that lacks ambition."

        I started to think about the illustrations that appear in my head and that these descriptions are somewhat accurate. Things have always been a little funny in my head and I guess it has just carried over to the way I picture things now that I no longer have the ability to see what’s in front of me.

        I have gone along with this for several years now and haven’t really given it much thought. However, recently I have begun to wonder how others would illustrate me? If imitation is classified as the highest form of compliment, then, illustrations of a person must rank right up there as well. After all, it is a form of imitation although, a more raw form.

        What would others see in my illustration? Would I be that depraved psycho or clueless clown? Maybe I would come across as the overly highlighted and spectacular caricature that you get at carnivals and fairs; with the overlarge eyes and smile with gleaming teeth. Whatever it is, I would hope it would represent the love I have for life.

        Still, I watch, or listen, and create the images of me painting the scenes that are still a huge part of my life and realize how lucky I am. I would have never believed that losing my vision would be such a blessing. It is one of the biggest gifts I have ever received. I never believed I could live without my vision. So much of life is reliant on it; movies, sports, even my own show.

        I have been performing for a large portion of my life and I realize now how important it is to see what is happening on stage.  I have had to rethink my show as a blind person and how I can accommodate others with visual impairments. I now get to experience life in a whole new way. Things I never would have realized as well as things I took for granted have now been brought to my attention. 

        I guess I will just go about my life with my happy little trees and clouds where they live in my happy little mind. And all the while hoping that when people think of me, whatever they decide I should look like – psycho, clown, or overachiever – that I can live up to their illustration.

SP