I did not want to paint a picture of a cow. That’s what everyone else at our office holiday party was painting. Not because I’m not a team player; I am. That’s important to me. But you should never underestimate your talents. The thought of taking step-by-step direction from someone about what to paint when, where, and how made me bristle. So, I did something else.
Each canvas lined up on either side of the table had the same drawing of a cow wearing a Santa hat outlined in pencil. I took my seat and turned my pallet sideways, then upside down, trying to get that silly cow out of my head. What would I paint? I didn’t know, so I picked up my brush and started mixing colors.
The thought of taking step-by-step direction from someone about what to paint when, where, and how made me bristle.
We had a paper plate with daubs of six hues to choose from—burnt umber, black, white, red, brown, and dark green. No blue, so I was kind of stuck. But not entirely. I could still mix the burnt umber with the red for a reddish orange. Or mix the burnt umber with the green.
As soon as I started mixing and painting, I felt at ease. I hadn’t painted in years. The brush felt familiar and applying the paint strokes satisfying, but a twinge of guilt insisted that maybe I was missing out on the communal activity. But no. I was participating, just doing my own thing. No cooperation was necessary, so it was okay to be the renegade.
I squinted at the fellow emerging on my canvas, green face, rosy cheeks, flaming orange hair.
My colleagues dutifully followed the instructions while the professional led the class. I squinted at the fellow emerging on my canvas, green face, rosy cheeks, flaming orange hair. He needed a background. I love paintings with depth of field and perspective. They’re full of space and possibility. It puts the subject in context and creates a story.
Even though everyone else was following directions and painting the same thing, each rendition was slightly different from the next. Some were executed with greater skill than others. Two colleagues went rogue in their own fashion. Instead of painting white fur on Santa’s hat, one of my colleagues painted green fur and inscribed her kids’ names on the painting. Another painted an aqua colored hat and jacket. “To hang in my bathroom,” she said.
Even though everyone else was following directions and painting the same thing, each rendition was slightly different from the next.
When my teammates saw my painting they said, “Polly went really rogue!” A young couple from another party walked around our table and when they saw mine, the woman’s face lit up. “I love this!”
I was quite pleased. “You can have it if you want.”
“I’ll pay you,” she said.
I felt flattered. “No, please, take it.”
My immediate supervisor smiled and hugged me around the shoulder. “See, never underestimate your talents.” I signed the painting and gave it to the woman.
Here I was afraid of being perceived by others as a rule-breaker instead of a team player, especially by the CEO. She was there too, painting her own Santa Cow. What if I gave her the impression that I can’t follow directions and don’t listen? It’s possible she thought nothing of the kind. By satisfying my creative urge and doing something different from the rest, I fulfilled someone’s dream of owning an original painting and not some copy she herself had painted that evening.
By satisfying my creative urge and doing something different from the rest, I fulfilled someone’s dream of owning an original painting and not some copy she herself had painted that evening.
All too often I underestimate my talent, but I shouldn’t. My creative outpouring might make even just one person happy. Any happiness we can inspire in others is never a waste. I’m glad I went rogue. In so doing, I unveiled a little gem that brought joy to someone’s life.