Sometimes I just can't bring myself to paint. Anything.
Some days it feels like picking up my minivan would be easier
than picking up a paint brush.
I just don't want to. And I dig my heels in.
And I say no to my painting self, until it passes and I'm painting again.
Then the floodgates open up and I can barely contain myself.
After this long dry spell I have about 25 series of paintings I want to create.
They come gushing out. They fill my mind and my heart.
And everything around me inspires me to paint.
The composition of my dirty tile in my kitchen next to my cold coffee cup.
The shape of my water heater and the way the old pipes twist around it.
The texture of the paint peeling off my fence and
the color combinations on the logo of the soap dispenser.
It feels out of my control.
And it's hard to do anything else.
I should be sweeping floors and folding laundry
and I'm stuck in a daze of textures and shapes and colors
Longing for time to splash paint onto paper and see what happens.
And I know I need to seize it, because it will eventually pass,
as the ebb and flow of inspiration always does.
But I also need to make lunches and
play with my kids and shower and get dressed.
And drink something besides coffee.
These are my latest.
Abstract. I know.
I let myself play and this is what I came up with.
And I kind of love it.