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You know Bob Ross. There’s no way that you don’t know Bob Ross. He’s everywhere: on television, t-shirts, party favors… you name it. The Bob Ross empire is vast and profitable, but the man behind that empire seems as affable and gentle as a sweet old golden retriever. Bob Ross was a staple of my childhood and so many others, and his painting instruction continues to touch countless lives.
Ross’s voice and demeanor are soothing. At the last brewery my boyfriend and I went to before the pandemic, all the TVs were tuned to The Joy of Painting. It was a great vibe, sitting there with the quiet clink of glasses and Ross’ whispery instruction floating down from the mounted television screens. Mountains and trees and bodies of water rose from his brush like it was nothing. Though we both love to sit and talk to one another, we sat there in silence, watching the show and soaking in Ross’s aura, even though we’d both seen the show innumerable times.
Sometimes when I watch Bob Ross I play the poetry game. In other words, I pretend
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