I wasn't feeling much like painting. I dragged myself before the easel because the Bloom True course (I like early xmas gifts) was completed last week ~ finishing the paintings seemed an important and monumental task. I had to remind myself that, if I wanted to, I could just use a paint brush. Y'know, like I used to before Bloom True. Paint brush in hand, I painted. Got paint on my fingers anyway, but the feel of it all seemed to engage my senses, kept me present. I'm preferring one painting over the other today. The unpreferred painting simply needs more time, but I don't like what I did. All of which further reflects this muddling sense of ennui. If it ain't gonna be good, then there's little point in doing it. I slogged onward despite the disparaging remarks from my Inner Peanut Gallery.
So, here I sit at my computer, fingertips covered in dried paint, my cells singing praises for the minor accomplishment of spending time in my favorite space. I did not succumb to X-Files and a nap.
|But first, an installment of Cats in Strange Places.|
|And Youth testing out a new long board in Strange Places.|
Okay. I'm done now.
|Some journal creating and post card making.|
|The painting I'm presently not pleased with.|
|The painting I am pleased with and might be considered finito.|