Stress levels.

The studio doesn’t normally look this messy.  Actually it’s looking a bit better than it had done as 20 of the little oil paintings I had to do are drying on the line, one is on the wall, two behind me (not shown – one landscape, one pet portrait) and one on the left still in progress taking up the main project table.  While I wait for a good time to make the next round of progress on the one on the left, I’m working on exercises for a class I’m going to start teaching next month.  It’s a watercolor class and as you can see, there’s hardly anywhere to put the watercolors.

Art Studio in a mess

There really isn’t anywhere to put anything down! The painting on the left is on supports, with oil paints stashed underneath it.

This too shall pass in about a week when I get the large oil dry enough to put on a wall to finish drying, and by then the babies should be dry enough to stack somewhere until I deliver them next month.  (Watch for the December newsletter probably to find their destination, it’s fun!)

 

A poem inspired by a friend.

Draconian Measures

I hear your wings trembling
through your words,
your fear of falling
well founded on circumstance
but nevertheless preventing you
from those branch to branch leaps
that all scaled angels can do.

Your response is to pile up
a blue brick fortress
rows upon rows of
alternating mortared protection
guarding you from the life
you know you really
wish to lead
but don’t know how.

Between the battlements you hide
with your numeric friends,
arabic ghosts
who play together
with perfect symmetry.
I bet you wished that humans functioned
according to GAAP.

Maybe I can persuade you to
remove one brick,
poke your head through and tell your lover
‘I’m scared, hold me
show me how to match wingbeats across this chasm,
gaze into your eyes
and never look down.’