A Little Missing Part


It was around 10:00 PM.Phoenix was asleep.  Laundry in the washer.  Dishes sitting in the sink.  Food in my belly.  And a paintbrush in my hand.

Yes, a paintbrush I said.

I finally had enough.  It’s been way too long–and ever since my little guy was born my heart has been longing to paint again.

All through my pregnancy all I wanted to do was write.  So I did.I wrote a lot–and barely painted.

Well that’s not totally true. I played in my sketchbook,  made mandalas (that I’m still working on still!), and dove into a little Art Journaling for 21 SECRETS.  But that’s it.

I just didn’t actually paint paint.  (You know what I mean.)


That all changed this week when I put a canvas on my easel, paint on a palette, and turned on the lights in my studio.  I probably should have went to bed–but screw it.

I need this.  I need to paint.

At first one of my usual “faces” started to appear–but it didn’t feel right. It felt forced…..trite…expected.

So I stood up, grabbed a bigger brush, and just started slapping paint on it with some freaking boldness and energy.

I painted like I was the last painter alive!

And guess what happened?  The ol’ pod‘s came back again!!

Or maybe a part of myself came back again.

Yeah, I think that’s it.

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