I have just spent some (quality?) time online looking at art galleries. I can't find any artists who paint like I do. Not even close. I do not know how I feel about this revelation. Part of me feels kinda unique and special. Part of me feels like a freak and somewhat stupid. (And part of me still wishes I were on vacation, sitting on a beach.)
Here is the painting under consideration from last night. I like it.
Some would say I am stuck in a rut. I prefer to think of myself as thematic. In fact, I got some lovely, unsolicited feedback on the painting I donated to the Festival of Trees. It was the tall tree from a couple of posts ago. Made me feel like less of a freak....
Poodle is having a birthday tomorrow.
As you can see, she is very excited. Can hardly contain herself. We left work early today and got home with enough light outside to play b-a-l-l (I have to spell it so she doesn't wig out). Someone was a happy camper. Now Momma has to drag her sorry ass off the couch and clean up the kitchen. I really really really want to make my two pies (cranberry orange and chocolate pecan) plus a kale tart tonight so I can sleep late tomorrow morning. I believe last Thanksgiving, in what I am embarrassed to admit was my usual state of procrastination, I didn't bake the night before and had to get up wicked early. What a waste of a day off. I adore the feeling of waking up, looking at the clock, and realizing I don't have to get out of bed for hours and hours. Call me slothful, I don't care. I don't even know if that's a word, and I don't care about that either. I get my best sleep after I wake up. Go figure.