The winter wind coming up the alley to the studio is the fuse I need. It cuts through my knitted face warmer, clearing my mind for the day of work. I'm taken to Arkansas, and to Adrienne, who knitted it for me, as I fumble for my keys. Only met Adrienne once, but in this way she is part of the commute I take each day. She has become a little part of my art, filling my studio with voices from my soul. Little things fuel me for the journey I am about to set out on . Hot cocoa, fresh colors, my best brushes at hand, apron tied on, Miss Kitty and Festus with me, I'm set for my journey of the day. Color studies and Gunsmoke are today's tickets into the world on my canvas.
Dad's favorite western, Gunsmoke, guides me through the past to the scene developing before me. A scene from a car window.
The voices from my childhood are the connection to subjects that I need with all my work, to do my best. It isn't about making a painting, it's about sharing feelings. The voices of Matt Dillon and Chester coming from the computer are voices from my Dad in a strange way. I mix the greens for the trees and grass with a smile, not forgetting the tint in the white flowers he picked for Mom. I still remember holding those flowers on the ride home from Uncle Melvin's farm and the ladybug sitting on the petals. The ladybug will have to wait for the next painting when I have a small brush at hand. Now I have just the brush I need.
As the day passes, the scene grows. Faces from the past fade to green and voices become wildflowers. The volume intensifies as the canvas swallows me. Only the brush laying paint can be heard. My mind races from memories, back to the canvas, giving glimpses of my life's past and present as I travel. A brush hitting the floor halts my trip. Looking at the clock, the trip is over, the painting rests, and I am pleased . Rolling up the car window I put things in order for the next day of travel.
Pulling on the face warmer and one last look, I switch off the lights, with a ticket tucked in my pocket for the next day's trip, I head to face the wind in the alley. Thanks, Adrienne.
