The newness of this year is still making me smile. I feel like I'm shedding the skin of the old and my wings are just drying out, getting ready to flap for the first time. The only thing outwardly that has changed is the date. Now I write an "18" in the little space behind the "20" on my checks. But on the inside, I'm bubbling up with ideas for paintings and goals and questions about what to write down in my calendar. Can you believe I've already purchased five planners? This is not a good sign. Decisions have to be made, for crying out loud. If I can't decide on my planner, how am I going to decide which way to go in my artwork this year? I want to plein air paint, I want to assemble a still life, I want to paint a portrait, I want to make a collage, I want to teach a class. And I want to do it all next week. Seriously, I'm planning more art time this year. That's one of my goals. Another is to organize and simplify my stuff and my house so I can get more studio time. And, maybe the most important one, is to sing more. Just sing. Not on stage or anything. Just singing wherever I am. So you might just hear me from across the room. If you do, feel free to join in.
Modern Day Gleaning. That's a better description for the kind of recycling that happens in my studio. Not so much to keep it out of the landfill, (although that's a good thing too), but there's more excitement involved here. Like treasure hunting. Like secret finding. Everyday is a safari, my eyes scanning the jungle, ears listening for those clues that someone is willing to part with a particular item. Like light bulbs. Non-working ones of course. Or rusty, square nuts. Those two things can make my stomach fill with butterflies. Even as a kid I scanned the gutters for bottle caps and old screws. There's a certain giddiness in getting something for free. You know there is. Stuff is the stuff that fills my space. The challenge is carving out table space to put it all together.