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The holidays are over, and hopefully you received some presents you really wanted. I say that because you’ve heard about husbands giving their wives “useful” things for Christmas such as vacuum cleaners. I even remember when a certain relative gave his wife - who was always fighting to lose weight - a scale for Christmas. Can you imagine? Believe it or not, the marriage survived. 

 

But I digress.

 

The truth is, I actually requested a vacuum as a gift a few years ago. I really did want a Roomba. It’s the robot vacuum that does the work for you. Once that vacuum came into our home, I was so happy happy with it, that over time I became the proud owner of a family of Roombas — three robots that now make it possible for me to keep breathing in a house filled with dog hair. (I have learned the hard way that certain breeds of dogs shed no matter what you do to try to prevent it.)

 

The good news is my Roombas go about their business regularly sucking up the fur as it gently floats across the floor. And they don’t even complain about their workload or ask for worker’s comp if they are injured on the job. Of course, you are thinking, they can’t talk. But that’s not true. Roomba owners know these electronic slaves actually do say a few words now and then. For instance: “Please charge Roomba!” or “Please move Roomba to a new location and press charge!” I dutifully comply since they are so polite.

 

But imagine my surprise this holiday season when I heard a crashing sound from down the hall and my Roomba went silent. Then I heard a long, sad moan. I raced to investigate. The Roomba in my master closet was not simply resting. Instead, it had caught a cord hanging down from my clothes hamper and then tried to suck it in. The cord was attached to a small lamp, which then crashed down on top of Roomba. Glass shards from the lightbulb were strewn about: There had obviously been quite a struggle. 

 

I quickly unplugged what was left of the lamp, and then gently picked up Roomba. I feared he/she/it might have unintentionally ingested some glass. Now here’s the weird part: As I lifted Roomba, I heard a deep, creepy voice from within the robot say “English! Haunted!” Then Roomba’s lights went out and there was nothing but silence. 

 

What did those two words mean? Was I part of a murder mystery where Roomba was desperately trying to give me a clue before it crossed the Jordan? I pushed a few buttons on its face, shook it gently to loosen some glass shards, and then carefully stepped out of the closet and into my office where I began to make arrangements for a decent funeral. Of course, the hardest part would be explaining to the rest of the Roomba family that one of their kind had passed due to my negligence in not unplugging that lamp.

 

So what does this murder mystery have to do with art? Here are my thoughts:

 

1. Embrace the unexpected. The broken glass that killed Roomba could find it’s way into a mosaic!

2. Mistakes can mean a good outcome in art. I’ve learned that when my brush slips or paint drips where I didn’t want it, the effect - though unintended - can be just what a painting needs to be exceptional. 

3. I should have carefully prepared the environment before having Roomba go to work. Likewise, the “groundwork” of composition - deciding how elements of a painting will be arranged - is often time consuming, but is time well spent. And doing thumbnail sketches and trying out different color schemes before starting a painting also beats cleaning up a big mess later.

 

Now, with clear 2020 vision, I wish you all a happy, productive, and mistake-filled new year!

 

 

 

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