brush stokes to keystrokes

 

Ahhh, nap time. I wish I could remember the point in my life where nap time became a wonderful treasure as opposed to something I dreaded as a kid. It seems there’s a trade-off, however, and I’m not sure it’s worth it – sleeping in late. Ever since I became a vessel for life I haven’t been able to sleep as late as usual, you know, noon on the weekends at least. Now I can’t seem to make it past ten which is such a let down, but I suppose I make up for it in naps through out the day. I know, I know, fairly soon I’ll be lucky to be in bed at 7am still, but let me cherish this last month, will you?

I would liken the last two weeks to a stream of consciousness piece of work…fragmented thoughts, a sort of complicated awareness of the unaware – only after the fact…it’d be difficult to tell you what happened on what day or who I saw when…foggy waters but fairly calm waters…contradictions of thought though none necessarily false…a struggle to anchor the goodness and release the fear that maybe someday all of this joy might be taken away…why wouldn’t it since it seems to be stolen from everyone else these days…anxious excitement for the changes of the all-too-near future…smiles…disbelief…belief…doubt…confidence…blah-ditty-dah…

As far as painting goes I’m in the middle of setting up my studio here in our new digs. Our furniture has been rearranged a few times thus far so I’m waiting to unpack my supplies and get settled in. I have some great ideas though. This new environment has fueled the imagination quite positively. I was worried it would be temporarily stunted by the confusion of newness and change, which I fall victim to quite regularly.  

 

So, tell me something real. Something other than fog that I can focus on.

 

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