Last summer my neighbors had a fence put in around their backyard. They couldn't afford to have the entire fence put up by professionals so half was built by their tenant. Every morning I take the time to pause and look at one board pulling free as it warps. Nails can't hold. A robin sits atop that fence each morning, admiring his work covering my windshield. I smile and compliment him on it.
Switching on the studio lights, I leave the outside world behind. I turn on the coffee maker and computer, to get started. My world begins to waken. Greetings from my easel, a friendly smile from a clean palette, brushes ready, I lay out fresh dabs of paint on mounds of old memories of long forgotten dreams. Sips of hot cocoa ready me for a day of work.
A little on-the-spot painting has had my attention for a week . It should make for an interesting day as I attempt to combine it with sketches of cows and a sunset burning in my head. No music again today, I’ll listen to a movie that I have watched already. "Wonder” is a movie about a little boy facing the world of school and peers with his scared face. Twelve times I've watched it - or rather listened to it. I need good people in my studio, even if they 're only present on my computer.
I'm blessed with being able to close my studio door and create this world for myself. I share this world with others through my paintings. Sometimes I take a trip back to my childhood in painting a scene of Katie Linsters kitchen window, other times I travel back to do a painting of my cousin in a hammock reading. For me, painting is about feelings, not about being clever. I forgive myself for the bad compositions and designs I stumble through. Katie forgives me too most times and Uncle Melvin laughs at my badly drawn cows. The hills are a bit higher, the grass a bit greener, and that purple cloud from the post office has found its way to the hills I see alongside my sketchbook cows.
As my movie plays on, my painting begins to breathe and the smell of the country comes back. Grass beneath my feet now, wildflowers brush against my legs as I lean back and take in what has appeared on the scarey white canvas that first greeted me. I reward my brushes with a warm bath and give my palette a good rubdown. Switching off the lights and returning to that artwork on my windshield, my day ends. Audie Murphy shares my dinner with an old Western as the sun sets, pulling me out for one last bit of glory to file away.
