Darting dreams unfold around me. School is finalizing, the hard work and word swallowing venture nearly done! I have a new and promising job in THE town I resent most (sixteen years after I declared my eternal distain). But despite my nearly outright hostility, every day I find tentative open friendliness.
We bought a house in the place my dearest’s heart has always desired. I had held the neighborhood at a wary arm’s length until I was won over by a combination of yellow and black paint and a wayward yard with hopeful slender trees.
As I sludge through the last of homework, of classes, putting in an average of three hours a day driving on six hours of sleep, packing one house, unpacking another, cleaning both; just knowing the end of the madness is coming, I wake up in a ridiculously good mood (albeit a little bleary eyed). Not painting, not reading, not day dreaming, flying, I still have the energy to finish.
Until Last night, when my hands woke me at 4am, (thank God not 3am).
I stretched my fingers, greeting the familiar ache, the strange cold feeling in my palms, listening to the gentle tap of the wind chime outside.
My thoughts drifted to my easel, sitting naked and neglected in a room crammed with boxes and lime green nasty walls: My paints are out of reach in stacks of bubble wrap, locked in with tape. My fingertips burned.
I slipped out of bed, padded past my sleeping dog and down the stairs to the basement. Digging through a box I found a pen and blank piece of white paper and feverish sketched. And what fell out of my hands?
Hello Sunflower
We bought a house in the place my dearest’s heart has always desired. I had held the neighborhood at a wary arm’s length until I was won over by a combination of yellow and black paint and a wayward yard with hopeful slender trees.
As I sludge through the last of homework, of classes, putting in an average of three hours a day driving on six hours of sleep, packing one house, unpacking another, cleaning both; just knowing the end of the madness is coming, I wake up in a ridiculously good mood (albeit a little bleary eyed). Not painting, not reading, not day dreaming, flying, I still have the energy to finish.
Until Last night, when my hands woke me at 4am, (thank God not 3am).
I stretched my fingers, greeting the familiar ache, the strange cold feeling in my palms, listening to the gentle tap of the wind chime outside.
My thoughts drifted to my easel, sitting naked and neglected in a room crammed with boxes and lime green nasty walls: My paints are out of reach in stacks of bubble wrap, locked in with tape. My fingertips burned.
I slipped out of bed, padded past my sleeping dog and down the stairs to the basement. Digging through a box I found a pen and blank piece of white paper and feverish sketched. And what fell out of my hands?
Hello Sunflower
Update: Painted a proper sunflower
13" X 9" (Loose canvas paper)
Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)
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