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Conor Murphy

3 Years Ago

The Paint Box, A Short Story.

The Paint Box


By Conor C Murphy

It was one of my prized possessions when I was a young boy and It commanded a
rightful position In our house, it was placed up high, and out of reach above my stamp and Marble collection.
Inside the box, contained a thousand landscapes, Still life and seascapes. Pirates on the bow of great ships that sailed the seven seas and windswept beaches on some far off tropical island., Flowers of all different shapes and colours in glass and marble vases.
The names of the colours were romantic in themselves, names like Crimson Red was the blood of the pirates, ultramarine blue for the warm waters and skies of the tropical islands that they frequented. Lemon yellow was always the colour of the primroses that grew like weeds on the banks behind our house, and Burnt Umber had the smell of the ground, or the tall trees that grew at the end of our lane.

But youth has a way of sneaking away in the night. Days spent with family and friends at the beach, flying kites and looking for minnow in shallow pools. Winter days reading, or breaking the ice in the water trays in the mornings for the animals in the yard. .Running through the fields in spring to find the new lambs,

The box was opened up from time to time to smell the oil in the tubes and to run the long soft hairs of the paint brushes under my nose. The Palette, with it’s funny shape I used to hold in my hand with my thumb protruding through it, and I though I was one of those great Master Painters commissioned to paint a landscape of some beautiful village in Italy,

My father would warn me to make sure that the caps were tightly closed after I would open one to smell the oil paint enclosed, otherwise the paint would harden he would say
to me .The paint box was a present to me from a very rich uncle in America, and though I only met him once, he must have impressed me as a child because I never forgot him, maybe the paint box had something to do with it. otherwise it was his size, He was a very tall man with wide shoulders who had a look of John Wayne. At the time Mr. Wayne was my hero, He always had the fastest draw and rode the most beautiful looking horse.

Because it was an expensive gift that commanded a high price, it was always placed on a high shelf in the reading room of our house. I was told that as soon as I got older I could use it, the fear of oil paint all over the furniture and rugs was a real fear of my mother who kept a very clean and tidy house.
As the years went by and my toys and hobbies changed, the paint box was forgotten and hidden from view, and even though I got taller it was always just out of sight.
It was not until my Mother died many years after my Father that the house and furniture were sold that the Paint Box was found.

Even though many years had passed, the paint was still pliable inside the tubes,
maybe it was due to the advice that my Father gave me, telling me to tighten the caps of the tubes before I put them back in the box..
The collection of brushes were still brand new and the palette had no sign of ware or stain of paints on it. My thumb now fitted perfectly into its place with a better fit that when I was a child

The box still held the possibilities of countless paintings, The paint inside each tube had an endless imagination, there was no limits to what they could do. The brushes just needed to be held with a firm but gentle hand to produce the beauty that life is.

And as I reminisce in the Autumn of my years about my childhood, back on the farm where I grew up in County Kerry, I think of all the missed opportunities I had to paint the beautiful things and people I knew, the old man, who used to smoke his pipe at the crossroads, and tell me stories about all the Kings of Ireland that he knew. His wrinkled face was wind swept and wind torn and was a challenge for any artist. Each grove on his face was deep and had it’s own story to tell. The elbows on his coat were patched two many times to count, and the collar of his white shirt was always black.
But you could not find a more gentle man in Kerry.

The paint is still good, I have the Palette and brushes, and most important of all,
I have the time.

Reply Order

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Gaby Ethington

3 Years Ago

Beautiful story! I have my dad's old paint box and recently started to paint after many, many years of not. I enjoyed your story very much and could imagine everything in it. Best wishes!

 

Jan Bickerton

3 Years Ago

What a lovely read Connor!

 

Bill Swartwout

3 Years Ago

Wow, Connor, that is a wonderful story.

In a way, I can relate. As a child I was always interested in technology - including the images my Mom's small camera could produce. For my 11th birthday, my parents gifted me with a home darkroom kit. And the rest is history - with photography being a part of my life for more than half century. I, too, wandered away with life's distractions - but I always returned - and am now having more fun than ever......

 

Donna Mibus

3 Years Ago

I enjoyed your short story, Conor. I do wish you had been allowed to use the paint box when you were a boy!

 

Val Arie

3 Years Ago

Connor - that was wonderful! Thank you for sharing!

 

Gill Billington

3 Years Ago

What a wonderful story Conor. I enjoyed reading it so much. I think you should write a book about your life and art. You could illustrate it with your paintings.

In fact Abbie may like to put your story in her arts magazine!

 

Jim Taylor

3 Years Ago

What a great story Conor! I'm sure you'll put it to good use.

 

VIVA Anderson

3 Years Ago

Wonderful story, and thank you for reminding us of all the positivity that being Artists brings to our lives, our 'small' worlds.

 

Kathy K McClellan

3 Years Ago

What a wonderfully written story Conor. Childhood memories melding with the present. A "creative non-fiction" that was well done.

Thanks for sharing both the story and the memories with us!

 

Conor Murphy

3 Years Ago

Thank you all for taking the time to share my memories in this short story, I really appreciate all your lovely comments and wish you all a safe 2021.

 

Kevin Callahan

3 Years Ago

Ah, Conor me, man, as you might say: Brilliant! I so recall our trip when we stayed near Cork and drove the "Ring". We had lunch in Cahersiveen where the patrons would only speak in Gaelic and studiously ignored us. All except for one nice man who we later learned was from Florida!

You write a good story.

 

Mary Bedy

3 Years Ago

That's really a lovely story, Conor.

I inherited my dad's two Brownie cameras. He let me use the red one one time when I was five years old. I took a photo of my friend, the three year old neighbor. On her 60th birthday (eight years ago), I sent her a copy of the photo and labeled the outside of the envelope "A photo from your past". She was amused by the bowl haircut. I still have that photo (the original). That was the only time he let me use that camera until I got older.

 

Lisa Kaiser

3 Years Ago

I enjoyed your story so much, great artful writing.

 

Diane Zucker

3 Years Ago

Conor, that was an enjoyable, well told story!

If you have any contact with your uncle's descendants, passing on the story would be a "gift" to them. I bet they would enjoy reading it.

 

This discussion is closed.