ISSUE SIX: December, 2020

THE UNOPENED PAINTBOX

by EVA SCHULTZ

The inside of a paint box becomes a coffin if the paints are never used. They lie in silence, side by side, siblings conceived together but never birthed. Produced in the silvery-clean world of the 1950s, spat identically off an assembly line for the sole purpose of making something unique, they wait for hands that will never come. Perhaps a young mother, ready at last for a hobby now that her children are old enough to allow her a few hours to herself. Maybe an older gentleman, weary after decades of work and wars, trying to see what’s lovely in the world once again.

Paint boxes like this sold from department store shelves and enticing shop windows, on their way to live out a purpose – paint streaking across clean white paint boards; turpentine staining the air with its scent as it cut through oils on the palette; brushes pressed a little too hard against the surface by inexperienced fingers, bristles bending joyfully as they leaned into their reason for being.

It was never important whether the paintings were any good. What was important is that they were painted.

But when a box is mummified in the attic, whether through neglect or fear or the slow death of dreams under the crush of responsibility, the supplies inside age alone, their potential untapped. Bristles created straight and ready for use stay rigid as the years pass by. Paint hidden away from all light dries into hopeless rocks of color that no eye will ever see. The manufacturer’s logo, never put on display for other artist hopefuls to admire, moves from outdated to vintage to antique.

Perhaps the paints dream as they lie waiting for a hand - any skill level, or none at all - to touch them for the first time since a factory worker packed them away. Brushes still hope to be of some use, decades after they came into being. Maybe a yellowed paint board will quietly rejoice when it’s lifted by young hands cleaning out the house after the funeral, preparing for the estate sale.

Did those who bought the paint box all those years ago know that paint is meant to be spread – that there is no reason to wait?

EVA SCHULTZ lives in Aurora, Illinois, where she is a business writer by day and a fiction writer by night. Her work has appeared in Blind Corner Literary, All Worlds Wayfarer, and Writer’s Digest. She lives with a big orange cat named Gus and enjoys drawing, painting, and collecting typewriters. Visit her online at www.facebook.com/EvaSchultzCreative.