On My Nightstand, on My Easel (6)

On my nightstand

When we were growing up, 
being sick was an occasion. 
Mother brought us meals on a pink wicker bed tray. 
Our family even had a separate set of dishes for illness—
blue and white with a dewy rosebud painted in the center. 
The plates were smaller than regular dinner plates. 
"You just don't have an appetite when you're sick. 
There's nothing less appealing 
than a big plate of food!" Mother would say. 
I can still see her shaking down the thermometer,
that whit-whit-whit.

Judy Goldman, Losing My Sister


On my easel

detail—tissue paper collage
work in progress, 16 days in, 5/4/20
24 x 48" on canvas

detail—tissue paper collage
work in progress, 16 days in, 5/4/20
24 x 48" on canvas

On My Nightstand, on My Easel (5)

On my nightstand

The walls were still not painted, he saw, 

the floor was still not refinished or sanded, 

and the window had yet to be replaced. 

But where the camp bed had sufficed 

for her to sleep inside her sleeping bag, 

a real and blessedly normal bed stood. 

A floor lamp stood next to it, 

and a box served as a temporary bedside table 

with a clock and a glass of water upon it. 

But the only point was the bed itself, 

and it was large, 

not king-sized 

but more than enough 

for two people to sleep quite comfortably in it. 

Together.

Elizabeth George, A Banquet of Consequences

On my easel

detail
work in progress, 12 days in, 4/30/20
24 x 48" canvas

Grateful to be Tugged

The canvas I worked on last Wednesday, a free canvas already painted previously by someone else and set out for grabs in their yard about a year ago, tugged at me off and on over the past few days. I let myself be tugged.

'tug in progress'
detail