Up the Dirt Lane

For three mornings, this was my practice: walk up the main dirt lane of Monhegan Island from my cottage to artist Judy's with complete sensory delight in early morning sun and early morning air; paint and talk and observe and ask questions and stumble along with brush in hand on the big tarp-covered deck in summer’s full glory, barefoot, with salt air and the sun's keen warmth kissing my skin; and two or so hours later walk part-way back down the lane to meet my dad for coffee at the Black Duck Emporium. 

on the way to Judy's

on the way to Judy's

on the way to Judy's

on the way to Judy's

I intentionally brought not one single supply other than a pad of Canson paper, opting to step out of my usual habits and away from my default comfort zone. 

I landed precisely in my discomfort zone. 

I felt awkward, herky-jerky, at sixes and sevens. But I got some paint on paper. 

some paint on paper

some paint on paper