Morning Walk, 6×6, oil on gessoboard, $75 Buy Now

I used to take walks every morning, but in the past few months I’ve gotten away from it.  It used to be a moment of calm in the breakfast/clothes/shoes/mickey mouse clubhouse chaos of the morning.  A respite.

We took a walk today.  I used raisins (a go-to) as a bribe in return for Ezra getting into the stroller and letting me strap him in without a fight. Just before we got home, we saw a cardinal, a beautiful red cardinal flitting in and out of the trees in a corner lot overgrown with trees.

I was thinking about what I should paint today and then, there he was, going about his business, unassuming, proud, indifferent.

I’ve said it before, but it continues to baffle me.  Me?  A painter of birds?  Of all the subjects in all the world.  But there’s something about it I know I haven’t quite articulated yet. Something on the horizon.  A discovery looming in the distance.

When I first decided to pursue art as a career, I ran into a well-intentioned neighbor on one of my once regular morning walks.  She asked me how my job was going.  Okay, I replied.  Don’t really see myself doing it long term.  Really?  She sounded surprised.  What will you do instead?

Moment of truth.  Be honest?  Lie?

“I”m going to be an artist,” I answered.

“You gonna pay the bills with that?”

Why do people think no one in the history of the universe has ever done art not as a hobby but as a career?  I get it.  It’s hard.  And ridiculously possible.

I’ve paid a lot of bills this month.


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