Painting on Rooftops

I was trying to hold in laughter as I sat on a worn couch staring at the monstrosities stapled to the office wall. All my life, I had dreamed of painting on rooftops. It was a quixotic little dream--I would be wearing a sunhat and scrutinizing my rendition of some beautiful Italian villa. Perhaps a man named Giovanni would bring me tea and marvel at my talent, wondering how in the world he could capture my heart.

So, when my friend invited me to ‘art therapy’, the philanthropic endeavor of a retired painter/psychologist, held weekly from his rooftop studio, I jumped at the invitation. I imagined Cairo’s intellectuals hard at work on masterpieces whilst opining about the meaning of life. The opining came naturally. As for the other part—the actual artwork….Let’s just say that I’m sticking with solving the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

Since part of art therapy is therapy, I was obliged to discuss my work with the doctor. I walked into his office and sheepishly handed him my paintings (I’m using this term loosely), which he promptly stapled to the wall for us to admire in all their glory. He then told me to go sit on the couch. I would have given in to the laughter I was stifling if it weren't for the seriousness of Dr. Magdi, a distinguished looking man with impeccable manners and a soft voice. He was pacing and thinking, keeping his eyes on the wall. All his thinking made me start thinking. I began to conjure up a new dream, one where I wrote novels from rooftops instead of painting. And maybe the guy's name wasn't Giovanni, Marco was better. And why tea? I'd be in Italy, better make it wine....

After five minutes of silence and chin-stroaking, Dr. Magdi finally said "Ava, why don't you live your life?"

Excuse me? A little indignant and not eager to discuss personal matters with a stranger, I joked that I had hoped he'd recognize Michelangelo's influence in my work. He didn't laugh and said I was avoiding the question. Then he told me things about myself that I already knew but didn't care to vocalize. I won't tell them to you because you probably have been aware but just never told me. A good call, considering I likely would not have conceded any of your points. I think I can trace this reluctance to the time Jon David blurted out “you need to see a therapist.” Yet, even though he was a complete stranger—or perhaps because he was—I gave in. I was soon answering all of his questions very honestly and withholding nothing. We talked for over an hour and I left feeling a little lighter and determined to act on some of our conclusions.

Whether this retired artist/psychologist really knows what he's doing or not, I can't guess. What I do know is that I get a tremendous amount of pleasure from people's reactions when I begin sentences with, "My therapist says....."