“All the pieces” 4×4, oil on canvas

 

Last week, I texted my best friend in a panic. The holiday cards, which I wanted to send but didn’t get around to until after Christmas, had come in and they were blurry. For whatever reason, at the moment, it felt like a metaphor for everything and took on a larger-than-life significance. If I can’t get this easy task right, how will I ever get fill-in-the-blank-with-anything right?

My bestie is a therapist. Not mine, of course, but, I know, don’t be jealous.

She eventually said something like, “You’ve got all the pieces. Sometimes getting them in order takes time.” 

Today’s painting was supposed to be yesterday’s, but it didn’t turn out right. Let me try that again: It didn’t turn out how I expected. It was the holiday card equivalent of blurry. I put it aside and revisited it again today. Turns out it just needed a few more strokes. 

Yesterday, I put those blurry cards right into the mail. 

Because perfection be damned.

 

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