the silent treatment

What's not to like about spending a day with my Uncle Sal.

For starters, it's so rare. I'm not even sure I've ever even painted with him - even if I have spoken of the legend on more than one occasion. The way he can just stand there perched over a ladder, cutting a ceiling like it's nobody's business with his shirt half unbuttoned and a cigarette dangling from his lips. The classic pose of perfect Italian concentration. Quiet, patient. I'd like to think we all have an Uncle Sal. The no-bullshit guy with the rock-solid values. The one who doesn't mince words and rarely spares anyone's feelings, especially his own. Yeah, that guy.

So it was just nice to spend the day painting with him. I feel like maybe we both paint for the same reasons - ones that go beyond simply having to, of course. It's to make clean. To start fresh. To meditate. For him, today was a way to let off some steam; for me, a way to calm some nerves.

I won't even venture to guess how many different homes he has painted for his sons and other family members. How many thank yous he probably never received. He shared his frustrations. I kept my anxiety to myself. But for he most part, we both wrestled our inner demons in peaceful silence; the wet sound of paint on brush on wall. Few orders given and none repeated. Little small talk and no useless chatter.

And maybe that was the best part of it all. All the things that can be left unsaid.