I knew this was coming, it always does. Not like clockwork but looming on the horizon, inevitable and taking its own sweet time. It’s just past the point where every stroke of the brush and every line drawn, when set to canvas lays in the perfect place. Like magic. Then bang. Push and shove, scrape and dither but to no avail. I’ve been here before. Many times. I don’t exactly welcome these episodes but I’ve learned they are telling me . . . take a different tack . . . and I listen.
Out and back. I like to leave the driving to others, and when I can get someone else to do the deed, I’m all over it. It’s the view out the window that holds my interest, clicking away with my little Cannon PAS, capturing fragments of an instantly past tense. Tops are images going, bottoms are images of returning. A different tact.
And then finally, for this missive, the new canvas in progress . . . taking it’s own sweet time.
It’s been a nice little break from the studio, the garden certainly benefited from my attentions, and the new painting bears witness to those efforts. The world is full of mostly invisible things and while I don’t know what to call them, they are still tied to me.
Look for the next post of It Happens Every Tuesday , on Tuesday April 5th . . . until then.