Just a perfect day for painting - puffy white clouds riding a warm breath of air through the cobalt blue sky. I pause to take in the scene before securing my canvas to the easel. In the distance, voices of joy mix with the meadowlark's call to a mate. A black bird carries strands of last year's dried grasses to a thorn apple tree. New life surrounds me as I lay out the colors of spring. Delicate greens decorate the poplar trees standing guard in the distance. Those young leaves protect the first blooms of spring that sparked the artist in me. Young voices come from the trees and specks of color race about.
Like the bees around me, I tend to the business before me, that of capturing a moment. I find there are moments where life is clear, where I am intune with myself. The spider exploring my palette, were I younger, I would send him off somewhere - to spider heaven more than likely. Now I just direct him away from the pale green I just mixed, with a simple warning. Painting has done that to me, given me a greater understanding. As my painting takes shape, I see how I got to this place in life. A road of time lined with people and problems. Grandparents saying it's okay, Uncle Henry showing me how to spit watermelon seeds, Dad planting values, and Mom showing colors.
Bits of me are all over my canvas. Time to lay down my brushes, clean my palette and put on my winter coat leaving summer to be finished tomorrow.
