Elizabeth sat outside,
working in the garden
in the late afternoon sun.
There was a lot to do,
a lot of cutting back and weeding,
cutting off dead heads in the rose bushes.
You need a garden you can fuss with, she thought.
Otherwise, what is the point
of having a garden?
—Anne Lamott, Crooked Little Heart
Well, I found me a garden to fuss with. It was my intention to go in and get out in mere minutes with this creative venture but that is not what took place when I gave my inner self paper, pens, and paint to play with.
I need a painting to fuss with, I guess.
Otherwise, what is the point of painting!