I feel it coming

Some grand idea approaches

But will I miss it? 

Ever feel on the verge of something? Grand idea might be too grand a statement– but I feel something approaching. Some idea. Some new concept or direction. If this tiger is the idea, I painted him much bigger (16x16). I don’t want to miss it.

A little issue

For your consideration–

Toothpaste– cap back on. 

Like I mentioned in my last post, I’m getting ready to sell my house, and the business of getting it ready for the market is no joke. Countless garbage bags, two trips to goodwill, the handyman on standby, constantly asking myself what else I can get rid of, what else I can scrub. I’m the bee again. But this time it’s only on a 4x4 in canvas, because, let’s be honest, that’s all the space I have available in a crowded studio I’m trying to make look like could potentially be something else entirely. I wonder what the new owners (may they come quickly and painlessly) will do with what has been one of my favorite places. 

I wonder if anyone in the new household will consistently leave the toothpaste resting on the sink, capless, day in and day out. And if the new head of household will find herself navigating such frustration with grace, dignity, and, perhaps, the occasional haiku. 

I wonder….

But that’s it for today. Back to the grind. 

Cold hands on the grips

We pedal familiar streets–

Future memories 

Transition. That’s the word I can’t get out of my head. That might be why I’m painting so many flowers and busy little bees– they speak to me of transition. 

I’m getting married in May. I’m putting my house on the market as now-ish as possible. I’m decluttering. I’m riding bikes with my son to school knowing the familiar streets have an expiration date. That very soon, when we do bike, it will be on less familiar streets.  

Today’s 6x6 sunflower painting is my joy and excitement at the transition. It’s also the bittersweet nature of saying goodbye to a place I have very much loved.

What other imagery speaks to you of transition? These 31 days mayb be coming to a close, but I’ll still be painting. I’ll still be seeking inspiration. 

Words– there’s too many

To say something meaningful

And yet still I try

I wrote the first line of this haiku this way: “Words–there’s not enough” but decided the second way was truer. Painting and writing– it feels like reaching into a big bag of infinite to pull out teeny tiny pieces and then arranging them into some sort of meaning or experience. There’s so little we actually use and there is so much to choose from. Daunting feels like a good word for it. 

I can’t begin to describe all the details I left out of today’s 6x6 inch sandhill crane painting. What I like about it? The posture. The little dance he’s doing (as though I’m not watching). Does any little part of it speak to you? Would love to know which.

The first day with heat 

This old house with creaky bones

Shivers, smells like toast

Birds puff up when they are cold. This little robin must have woken up in my house this morning because he’s quite puffed up– and I’m just enough not puffed up that I can share this poem I wrote about being cold in a place that’s not supposed to be. I’d love to know your thoughts– on both the painting and the poem! 

Louisiana is not cold

Except on the days when it is

Our collective forgetting

And then remembering

That sometimes we run the water all night so the pipes don’t freeze

And sometimes we wear two pairs of socks

And sometimes we let the car warm up a bit

Before driving away

Days like today bathing suits and beaches feel like a movie I saw once–

I remember some of the plot, the face of one of the actors

I’d like to see it again because I recall there was some magic 

that now I can’t seem to place

Over the roar of a heater working too hard