If there were actual snow where I am, which there’s not, so let’s just imagine . . . under the snow there ‘d be crocuses and bulbs ever so close to unfurling into daffodils, freesia, tulips . . .
My lack of posts recently has mostly to do with a period of creative, emotional, and spiritual flux. The good thing about flux is that it usually indicates growth, change, evolution. That’s the case here, but I can’t articulate it meaningfully while I’m in the thick of it. (Further on down the road, I expect.)
So I’m just checking in, is all.
BUT. Winging its way to me at this very moment is a new batch of glitter paint, and some blue pearlescent tempera, the better to throw at my well-papered easel when I find myself gripped in the throes of intuitive painting.
AND. I actually found the first daffodil in our front yard this week.
BESIDES WHICH. I’ve been to Isabel’s for brunch (Sunday) and dinner (tonight) this week, and all of my favorite waiters were there. In fact, because we left him such a good tip the last time he served us, the Zen waiter threw in a gargantuan brownie for free. Gotta love him.
FINALLY, it was suggested to me recently by someone I greatly respect that perhaps art (for me) is a form of prayer. Can’t say why, but that has been hugely comforting of late . . . a gift and a blessing . . . and I am grateful.
Six more weeks of winter, but that’s okay. When the sun comes back I’m having a parTAY . . .