I keep a bob ross sticker on the inside of my laptop. Right under the keyboard, to the left of the keypad. Resting my hands on the home keys, I still have ¾ of the afro showing and the entirety of a squirrel picking an acorn from his ear. Hilarious. I fucking love bob ross.
He might have been the first person to tell me it was ok to mess up. And probably the first time I heard a non-baby form of “happy accident.” He is himself. And personally, it’s difficult for me to disrespect someone, number 1, but number 2, a red-headed white man with an afro. He’s been through hell and back. Let’s just all take a knee.
But foreal though. He’s a light. A gift. An energy that had an affinity for creating. For inspiring. For encouraging and lifting up others with conviction. Without the idea of reciprocity.
He reminds me to keep going with my art. No matter how messy it is. That if I practice enough and learn to trust the process and be vulnerable, I’ll be unstoppable. Even if I end up with squirrels picking acorns from my ears.
