It seemed like a natural act. I pulled my travel paints out on my parents kitchen table one by one. Austin and Courtney lay asleep in my old bedroom. We had gotten to my folks house at about 8:30 Thanksgiving night. It was the first Courtney was able to come with me. I felt so grateful for her, the time she spends sewing for our family, the way that she carries my anxieties just as I carry hers. She had left a spool of Guterman thread out on the table and as I looked at it and the way that the lines and shapes crossed and crossed and the feeling of the shadow on that object it felt like it was indicative of everything.
I settled down to a painting of the thread, fairly unaware of the metaphor but arrested by the power of that object. I couldn’t help but think of the connection between my mother the knitter and crocheter and my wife creating dish rags next to me the night before. My home town and my parents house always brin me pause, not as much comfort as I feel at home but a few quiet moments to live without the need for motion.
Later that day, my wife had left out her thimble and her shears and I felt compelled to start another piece. I felt the need to live the things that were her.
Then last night as we were waitin to go to dinner I started one last piece of the scissors open.
It is interesting to find these still lives all of a sudden. I feel like I am drawing in a way that I haven’t in years and am learning what it is to actually be a painter instead I a pusher of ideas. I wonder too if my ideas are not more accessible by doing these still lives to begin. Time will tell.
Everything is feeling groovy right now. I think in ready to finish a couple things that I’ve been dreading and I am pleased that that is finally the case.
Peace
Mike.