If you've ever gone to summer camp—as I have, you might well know the
alive-awake-alert-enthusiastic song—as I do.
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 |