funeral
It’s really quite simple actually. Hansel popped in a movie that he borrowed from the library. Phoenix was snuggled in his bed asleep. I, in my pajamas, poured a cup of hot ginger tea and then spread my art journal and oil pastels out on the chaise lounge with my watercolor paints resting awkwardly on my crossed legs. Sure it feels like I dibble dabble with FEARLESS® Painting once in awhile. Enough to give the impression that my paintbrushes haven’t moved to the Bahamas without me. And I could begin this next sentence with the words “there used to be…
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I can’t remember the last time I sat down and wrote a blog post on a Sunday. You see, I have this silly voice in my head that thinks its important to stick to some type of decorum or predictability or schedule or right way of doing things. And this voice is what some may call an inner critic. But ever since I went to Sedona to lay my dreams to rest and bury so much of my bloated ambition and diluted pride into my paintings, I left there with this uncanny hunger for more mystery, more uncertainty, more living…
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The mind has a tendency to want to cork it, seal it with rose colored wax, then throw a label on it. Done. Finished. Ship it out. Drink it up. We got it figured out now. Well, at least my mind has a tendency to work like a winery. It’s always looking for that clue that will lead to some perfected varietal. Something I can package up neatly and count on it being steady, stable, and forgiving to any last minute recklessness. Though if I listen closely to the gods that guard the wine cellar, I know that this life…
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