Another Intuitive Painting

First I pick up the paintbrush and dip it into the orange watercolor paint.

Orange, because I LOVE orange. Simple as that.

I have no idea what I am about to create–I just let the brush flow across the page.

From there I switch colors and add some water to the paper. I watch the paint bleed into each other creating little whirlpools of warm colors, and I think of being a kid running circles in my neighbor’s above ground pool.

“Marco.”

“Polo.” And around we kept going.

There are somethings you can never do again. Like be nine years old in the middle of July. Like giggling with your little brother as you throw a whiffle ball across the yard and he misses, even though the big red batt is five times his size. Like reaching for your Grandpa to pick you up and hold you tight and scratch your cheek with his mustache.

But I still can sit in front of my paint set without an agenda. I still can use orange because it’s my favorite color. I still can spend my time dreaming, and hoping, and secretly wishing the sunshine would last a little longer.

I still can call myself an Artist– and hear my heart reply with a sigh.