The Blank Canvas

We were married in 2007. Fourteen years ago this week. In the heat of summer. In an outdoor wedding. In the middle of the afternoon. On the western Canadian prairie. At a museum in our hometown. 

Like all marriages, at our wedding, we had a blank canvas. We had years, decades ahead of us; and like most young couples we were a blank canvas full of optimism, passion, and romance pushing us forward into a lifelong, loving relationship.

Alas, I’m not sharing a love story today. While a blank canvas is a great relationship analogy, we, quite literally, had a blank canvas at our wedding.

And fresh paint.

And paintbrushes.

And emergency cleaning supplies. Just in case.

It was a pristine, untouched, 30-inch-by-50-inch swath of tightly stretched fabric.

I’m certain the person who was in charge of our hall rental that evening nearly had an aneurysm when they saw it being set up before our guests arrived at the reception. The pain of which was only lessened slightly when we tossed a drop cloth on the floor in our feeble attempt to protect it from our guests.

The hall monitor — like back in middle school? — never did say anything to us, but I can only imagine what they were thinking. I’ll leave it to you to fill in those blanks. I suspect they aren’t repeatable in a PG-rated story like this. 

Marrying an artist meant that art would be ever-present in my life. I’m grateful for that. Grateful that my kids are exposed to the vulnerability brought on by artistic creativity.

Marrying an artist meant that art would be ever-present in my life. I’m grateful for that. Grateful that my kids are exposed to the vulnerability brought on by artistic creativity.

It was only fitting that we would include our wedding guests in something that was so important to our relationship.

Yet, art is ever-present for most people. They just might not realize that the statue, the mural, the movie poster, or, in some cases, the advertisement or corporate logo they’re walking past is a work of art. However, when you’re married to a creator, to an artist, you are fully aware that each of these are a creation of one individual or a group of individuals.

As the evening went on, the canvas was creatively filled by our loving family and friends. And potentially a few strangers who slipped in the backdoor. The more the merrier.

We had some fabulously talented individuals at our reception. We also had some individuals who, um, well, they tried. Better than I could do, at least.

Despite the vastly varied talent of our guests, it was a wonderful idea to incorporate the blank canvas. Fourteen years later, the now-filled canvas still has a place in our home.

I look at it often. While I’ve since stopped finding new, mostly pleasant surprises in it, I do gaze at it occasionally. It always provides the opportunity to reflect on those early days of our relationship.

We’ve had our ups and downs. We’ve both soared. We’ve both crashed. Sometimes together. Sometimes separately. Most of the crashing done by me. But art has always been a constant. And, I’m always grateful that every day, every hour is a blank canvas for us to fill.

Happy anniversary my artist wife!