It's dark outside when I wake up. I slip on a sweatshirt before I get out of my cocoon. The cold irritates me. Breakfast is started children gently arosed from dreams. Eggs fried, eaten, table cleared and wiped. The cold is bracing at first, gradually the car thaws and we are a ball of heat barreling through fog to get to football practice. Cows dip lazy eyes into the layers of fog, emerging with the same breakfast everyday. Kisses and Goodbyes.--- The sun is awake and ready to lift the fog. When I get home I make the bed, sweep up Pyrenees hair and begin to settle into my new painting. I believed it was finished, but living next to my easel has forced me to look longer and harder. There are a few sections of the sky I think need smoother paint. This series is based on photos taken at night; homes aglow with human activity. Homes are appreciated at night. It is the only time we are together. In this particular painting ("The Farm") the house is empty, a mud room is illuminated, no boots or umbrellas. One window to the right is lit up with a basketball net. It has a mystery to it, dark around the house and evidence of what once happened.
My Choctaw horse needs another coat. I believe I can make it even stronger. There are a few areas that seem off, ---just slightly.
I paint until about noon. I sprint through the neighborhood, fending of loose dogs, and paying attention to the moment by moment changes of autumn. Running is a forced activity that feels so good I wonder why I hate doing it.
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