By now you have given up asking, “Do you still paint?”
As a matter of fact, I do, though in tiny time slots — half an hour here, ten minutes there. The group’s annual show is approaching and that means taking advantage of a room of my own, my studio. Coincidentally I am reading Virginia Woolf’s book on same. Her writing fills me with admiration. Its apparent stream-of-conscious meandering gradually reveals itself to be a cogent and persuasive treatise supporting the need for women to have basic rights such the ability to have her own money, to have help with child care, and to receive fair legal and domestic treatment in the matter of family resources. Woolf’s argumentation (her “little fish”) is artfully disguised as preparation for a talk she has agreed to do about women’s literature and a consequent research visit to Oxbridge. Before long, she has convinced the reader that it is a miracle that women have any literary productivity at all.
So, getting back to my own wee room of my own where I unsuccessfully go to hide, there are canvases stacked willy-nilly. There are two large landscapes. One is another paddler’s view of a magnificent tree framed by a cumulus cloud, and the other belongs to the Above The Credit series, one of my favourite photos, which I have been trying for years to paint, always chickening out. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, so now the painting of an overcast January day with pewter water and hoarfrost sits next to its diametrical opposite — sunshine, blue sky, and a canoe on the river. I happen to love both seasons and I hope you can tell.
The other two large works #2 and #3 of the “Besties” series — a child with a beloved pet. I have strong feelings about the subject, partly because my best friend was my dog. We were inseparable and gaze into one another’s eyes in this photo. You can see his muzzle right below my chin.
He was a VERY bad boy. I’m generally no fan of bad boys but for I have made a few four-legged exceptions Yes, Theodore, I'm talking about you.
Hope to see you at the annual art show in a few weeks. Bring a dog biscuit. Or if you beg, I'll give you one.
As a matter of fact, I do, though in tiny time slots — half an hour here, ten minutes there. The group’s annual show is approaching and that means taking advantage of a room of my own, my studio. Coincidentally I am reading Virginia Woolf’s book on same. Her writing fills me with admiration. Its apparent stream-of-conscious meandering gradually reveals itself to be a cogent and persuasive treatise supporting the need for women to have basic rights such the ability to have her own money, to have help with child care, and to receive fair legal and domestic treatment in the matter of family resources. Woolf’s argumentation (her “little fish”) is artfully disguised as preparation for a talk she has agreed to do about women’s literature and a consequent research visit to Oxbridge. Before long, she has convinced the reader that it is a miracle that women have any literary productivity at all.
So, getting back to my own wee room of my own where I unsuccessfully go to hide, there are canvases stacked willy-nilly. There are two large landscapes. One is another paddler’s view of a magnificent tree framed by a cumulus cloud, and the other belongs to the Above The Credit series, one of my favourite photos, which I have been trying for years to paint, always chickening out. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, so now the painting of an overcast January day with pewter water and hoarfrost sits next to its diametrical opposite — sunshine, blue sky, and a canoe on the river. I happen to love both seasons and I hope you can tell.
The other two large works #2 and #3 of the “Besties” series — a child with a beloved pet. I have strong feelings about the subject, partly because my best friend was my dog. We were inseparable and gaze into one another’s eyes in this photo. You can see his muzzle right below my chin.
He was a VERY bad boy. I’m generally no fan of bad boys but for I have made a few four-legged exceptions Yes, Theodore, I'm talking about you.
Hope to see you at the annual art show in a few weeks. Bring a dog biscuit. Or if you beg, I'll give you one.
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