Well friends, it finally happened. I’m going to sound a lot like my writer friend Butch when I say this, but my muse just got up and left, and I’ve been sitting around with these dang knives waiting for her to return. Fortunately, I started this heron painting before she evacuated (I think I’m the hurricane she’s running from), and I could manage the last few strokes without her.
The past couple days my knives have felt like surgical tools in the hands of a toddler. Not the butter knives I’m used to–spreading thick but soft gobs of oil paint over canvases that take to it like warm bread.
I’m the first to preach about doing the work anyway. I’ve been know to use that Picasso quote a time or two– “Inspiration does exist, but it must find you working.” But right now, I’m just waiting– like a great blue heron at the edge of a pond, for that muse to see that my light’s still on. My hands still moving, despite the number of paintings I’ve had to renounce.
I’ve been staring at my screen for the better part of an hour now, and I still can’t come up with a title for today’s painting. Would you help me out? What should this one be called?