Paint Night

I don't paint.

I mean, I've never tried painting. I'm sure if I did I'd be really good at it, but I never have, and so I'll never know, because I don't paint.

My friends do though.

And my friends?

They like to paint together.

They paint as a unit . . .

. . . a big family unit.

Young and younger . . .

. . . aunties and nieces . . .

. . . sisters and brothers and in-laws . . .

. . . family and friends.

. . . they all sit together and do this thing and it's pretty magical.

They paint!

The concentration . . .

. . . the fierce determination . . .

. . . the awesomeness of Christine, who invites us to join the magic . . .

. . . these peeps are legit.

Well, except for Christine's rotten kids.

 All three of 'em.

But her nieces make up for it . . .

. . . as do the boychicks. (That's not Polish but it's as close as I've got.)

We love being part of the fun every year:

And this year?

Watching all those arteests making their magic?

The results were phenomenal:

Christopher sees the world differently from the rest of us . . .

. . . and for that we are grateful.

And the night's prizewinner, you ask?

 . . . The Portraitist himself . . . 

The Subject. . .

. . . The Masterpiece.

Brilliant.