There are days when I ask myself why I paint, what's the point, where am I going with my painting, and blah blah blah, as though I should have an answer, as though in the absence of having one I am failing.
Other days I'm alive awake alert enthusiastic, alive awake alert enthusiastic, alive awake alert, alert awake alive, aliveawakealertenthusiastic!
Today I was totally in my happy place—making marks, letting them dry, spraying them with fixative, brushing over them lightly with matte medium. Sun was shining, air was warm, grass was green, I was painting in my front yard. Complete contentment.
Why do I paint? Because, it appears, I do!
I could leave this patch of perfect fun as is, it occurs to me. And, at the moment, I will, since my first tutee of the day arrives momentarily.
But I am itching to see what happens next with this little square of sunshine and enthusiasm.
|new patch, first marks|