Home » 2013 (Page 17)

Yearly Archives: 2013

Back On The Road

The road block took a hike, I barely started the last of the three portraits I wanted to finish when I let “life” get in the way of my creativity. Tonight I happily sat here (yes, on the white slip-covered couch, but it is watercolor), and am pleased to say that Kylar is just about finished. I am also very happy to say that I’m not sweating this one. When I say “just finished” I mean just that. I’m out of good light for the evening so I will need to finish in the morning. I feel like I made a giant leap in my progression towards artistic confidence here. There was a time where I would have just given up, put half-finished work face down in the studio, never to be seen again. I let my guard down due to stress and my alter ego “not good enough” took advantage and got inside my head. I’m finding it easier to banish it to the basement of my brain. I over worked the last portrait, but it is still good work. With this portrait I could feel myself feeling confident. It’s an amazing feeling to see something develop from my hands. I never take my talent for granted, I know it is a gift, and I appreciate all that I can do. Of course I’d still love to have a great singing voice, or know how to dance, but you can’t have everything, although a little coordination would be greatly appreciated. Despite my minor moment of melancholia the other night, things are good. These are difficult days at times, but there are moments in each of them that bring a smile to my face and lightens my heart. There is of course also the benefit of living with the best friend you’ve ever had, especially when he does goofy things just to see you laugh. The journey continues, and it is never a straight road, sometimes it curves, and sometimes it is has road blocks, but it wouldn’t make for a very interesting life without them would it?

Image

Thank You

Before I begin my post tonight I think I need to clear something up. I think there was an awful lot of misinterpretation of my blog last night. It was after midnight when I wrote that piece. I was tired,and yes suffering from a little melancholia, but I had just finished a wonderful meal, shared with good friends, in my beautiful garden with my amazing husband. I am concerned and worried because my husband lost his job, or as he puts it, “his job lost him”, but I am not a lost sheep. When I spoke of not hearing the voice inside me I was speaking of my own voice. I was kidding when I spoke of my monkey-esque brain getting in the way of prayer, thus the use of the word monkey-esque. When I spoke of being impatient and my prayers not being answered it was in a humorous moment with Dan. I do find myself searching and wondering, but it is not because I find something lacking in my soul. I’m human, I’m worried, and despite the postings of a wife who is concerned for her husband, I have not lost faith. While I truly appreciate the thoughts and prayers sent my way, those of you who know me know that I am rather fond of finding humor in my life, particularly when talking about myself. My faith life is and always has been a private and personal relationship. I can be a bit of a loner, and it suits me to be that way in my spiritual life as well. Yes, we are going through hard times, but that is out in the world, at home I have no empty space to fill. I am a very loved woman, and in that luckier than most.

I decided tonight to post something I wrote several months ago with the intention of sending it to my local paper. Shame on me, I didn’t send it, but maybe this is better, this platform that reaches far beyond my local community. If you want to know where I live my spirituality then you need to read this.

                                                                                                                                                  MY FRIEND
I am an immigrant. No, not the kind that seems to be of great concern to everyone, the other kind, a pasty white Canadian with parents straight off the boat from Ireland. No one seems to care if I am legal (I am), but that really isn’t the point. For those of you who live in the Temecula area we suffered a significant loss recently. Most of you aren’t aware of it, particularly those who don’t attend our marvelous Saturday Farmer’s Market in Old Town. There amongst the fruits, vegetables, and restaurant fare was a man selling flowers. He wasn’t the only flower vendor, there are two or three others, but he was a gentle man with a lovely smile, and he was an immigrant. He was the immigrant you are all so concerned about, the Mexican kind. My husband and I attend the market weekly. There are many vendors there that recognize us on sight, and with those vendors we exchange pleasant greetings. The flower vendor was different. Week after week we would buy flowers from him and exchange a smile and a “Thank you”. His English was poor, our Spanish is nonexistent. The language barrier didn’t matter, or that we didn’t know his name, and he didn’t know ours, that gentle smile on that weathered face said everything. We became friends. Eventually he began to give me an extra bouquet, something he chose to add to whatever my husband was buying for me. In return I began to bring him a little something I baked, and the gift of a watercolor painting I had done of one of his sunflowers. He disappeared for a while and there was a great deal of concern for him from the people who attend the market every week. I knew this because when we asked about him, his niece told us that her uncle was recovering from surgery, and that it meant so much to her that so many people cared for him. A few months ago he returned. He looked older and a little feeble, but the smile was still there. I know that there is so much anger and even some hatred for immigrants in this country, but there are also those of us who understand who and what they are. My dad came here with a pregnant wife and two daughters because he wanted a better life. I don’t condone illegal immigration, but I wish everyone in this world could have the opportunity that we all have. I don’t know if the flower vendor was legal, I do know that by looking at his rough hands that he probably worked hard all of his life. Maybe we can all set aside a little of our hostility and stop and really look at one another. Many of you couldn’t or wouldn’t do the kind of work that would give a man hands like that. There has to be a better solution than anger. There needs to be compassion and understanding. Two weeks ago when we attended the Farmer’s Market we saw a picture of him surrounded with flowers. The flower vendor has passed away. For those of us who saw him weekly we will miss that smile. I will miss my friend.

For those of you that were lovely enough to offer the gift of your faith, your church, I thank you, but I have found mine in the face of humanity.

Tonight I am working on the last of the three portraits that I’m doing, but instead of posting the work in progress, I am posting the sunflower I painted for my friend, it’s brilliance could never match his smile. God bless you my friend.May 2011 199

Say A Little Prayer

Posted on by | Leave a comment

Late, late night, so even later post. I worked in the kitchen all day baking bread, making homemade dressings, making Quiche and chicken salad, and much, much more. Its something I enjoy very much. We had friends come for dinner. It unfortunately didn’t leave me much time to create art. I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about tonight. I’m feeling a little off my game. If it’s possible I think I’m having a little case of writer’s block, as well as a moment of shaky confidence artistically. I was reading a book today that mentioned how sometimes our minds are like monkeys, jumping around from thought to thought, its true, at least for me. Last week I wrote about listening to the quiet voice inside yourself, mine must be whispering because I’m not hearing anything. Dan laughed at me earlier because I said I had been praying and I’m getting a little impatient because my prayers haven’t been answered. I told him that maybe they weren’t working because I can’t quiet my brain long enough to be sincere. Then I think maybe no one is listening because I don’t go to church. I stopped going to mass years ago. I go rarely if I feel like it, but mostly if I’m there it’s because my dad is in town. I feel like a hypocrite sitting there amongst the faithful chanting in prayer when I’m creating a grocery list in my head. I feel closer to God out in the world than I do sitting in a building repeating the same words week after week as if I were a robot.  We’ve hit a patch of bad luck in our lives, and its starting to take its toll. It leaves me searching for answers and with an uneasy mind. It’s hard to be creative when you feel like you have a black cloud hanging over us. And I do mean us. The best thing about finding that illusive “soul mate”  is that when you do, no matter how tough things get, you always have someone to lean on. So I will continue to pray, hope God knows that my monkey-esque mind is trying to stay on track, and maybe let me know someone is listening.Picture 007

Tonight one more for my mother. I mentioned a while back about I painting I did while sitting in ICU, it was to hang at her bedside. Sunflowers in watercolor.

 

For Mom

It’s early evening here in Temecula and I haven’t attempted anything new for the day. Busy work in the garage, and to be honest a little stressed about stuff I can’t seem to let go of. There is also this, I know I mentioned it earlier in the month, but today is the sixth anniversary of my Mom’s passing. Never an easy day. I inherited “not good enough” from her. She never realized how fantastic she was. I am hoping that this project will eventually free me from myself, and maybe in some way she will gain something through me. I also realize that my daughter has a hint of the “not good enough” and I want to vanish it from her life too.

Speaking of “not good enough”, I mentioned it last night, and boy was it back this morning. I worked on Kelsey this morning because I wasn’t happy about it last night. The other issue is that I wait so long in the day to work that by the time I’m finishing up its dark outside, and I’m tired, and I don’t work with enough light…excuses, excuses, but all true. The stuff I can’t let go of? Perfectionism. I wrote last night of how Kelsey’s portrait didn’t give me any trouble. That was then, this is now. I worked that little baby’s portrait over and over, I almost ruined it by dropping a big blob of water on her poor little face. I finally put it down. I spoke to my daughter Jessica about it later in the morning. She said, “Mom, if they just wanted a picture they’d take one.” She’s right. I need to get it through my stubborn Irish skull that I’m not a Xerox machine (if you are too young to know what that is, google it!) I am an artist, I am evoking a feeling, or an essence, not a Sear’s portrait. I took on the garage stuff today because I needed to shake this off. I was doing so well, progressing and feeling confident. I’m not sure what happened that set me back…ding! Light bulb just went off. Most of the art I have been producing these last few months wasn’t for anyone. There were one or two pieces for Dan and Theresa, but they are like my other halves. It is because it is for someone else. My new family. Do I think they are going to get the portraits and put a big red check in the middle, or publish a bad review in the local paper, of course not. But I’m me, and I want them to love the portraits of their children. I’m sure they will, because this isn’t about them, it’s about me and my issues. I’m sure I’m slightly insane, and that all will be well. I just have to remember that “not good enough” is very sneaky, and will find the crack in the door if I leave it open even the slightest bit.

Two hours later…

I talked to Dan about how I was feeling, and of course his words pretty much echoed Jessica’s. I was in fear of being judged, thus the “revisiting”. Finally I just began to cry. It’s a hard enough day, and I make it harder on myself. In the midst of all of it another light bulb moment. There is always a root for every problem, and sometimes the person who planted it doesn’t even realize they are doing it. When I was a little girl, and had already begun to show talent, my dad handed me a photo of John Kennedy and asked me to draw it for him. In my recollection I was around five, but at the very least I was seven, because I still remember where I was sitting when he asked. He walked away and I cried because I didn’t know how to draw that picture and I didn’t want to let him down. Who knows what he was thinking. It’s a sad memory, but Dan said at least now I know where my lack of confidence started. Maybe I should rename the blog “365 Days to Psycho Analyze Yourself”, lots of stuff going on in my head these days. I want to say right now to my two children, if I have ever said something that made you think you weren’t good enough, I’m sorry. You have both always been amazing and the joy of my life.

Tonight, something for my mother. When she died her coffin was covered in yellow roses ordered by my dad. I don’t remember yellow roses being her favorite flower, they are his. I know that because my mom told me so. I remember lilacs, and that she smelled like Heaven Scent when I was young. I had some small pieces of wood, left overs from something, they aren’t even cut straight. Lilacs in acrylic on wood. Love you Mom.

7 22

Step Away From The Canvas

Posted on by | 2 Comments

An addendum to last night’s blog. I confessed to being a somewhat messy painter, I noticed this morning, again while on my stationary bike (a place for observation apparently), I realized that the book I was reading had paint on the cover. I have no idea how it got there. Just thought I’d let you know.

I am posting two photos tonight. One that I started yesterday of Keira, and today’s subject the absolutely adorable Kelsey. I had a battle of the wills with “not good enough” who chose today to poke it’s nose into my artistic business yet again. I wasn’t completely happy with Keira’s portrait last night, this despite the approval of her mother, Jill and my daughter, Jessica. The biggest problem (besides me) is that I was working in watercolor. There’s not a lot of room for error in watercolor. Once the paint hits the paper you are pretty much committed. I worked on Keira for a few hours, I think I’ve finally got it, but I still have one section that I want to revisit tomorrow. I think I may come to a moment where someone needs to just tackle me and take away my paint brush.

As for Kelsey, I was honestly not sure I could pull it off. Babies, though I love them so, do not have developed features. Their cute little button noses and tiny bud like lips can be difficult to paint/sketch without appearing too harsh. Kelsey was very cooperative. Not that I don’t need to revisit her tomorrow, I do. Her beautiful, sparkling brown eyes are much more intense than I have portrayed them in the painting. They will have to do for tonight, because my eyes are tired. I do see a few other adjustments I’d like to make. Sometimes I need to step away from the painting and revisit it when I am rested.

Addendum Part Deux.  Just in case you were wondering, I’m painting in a tan linen skirt, a cream-colored tank and a silk shirt. I didn’t get any paint on my clothes tonight, it’s what I’ve been wearing all day, including while I made homemade pizza sauce. I wish I could say that went without incident. When the mood strikes…

Keira 721

Kelsey 7 21

Learning From Myself

Posted on by | Leave a comment

I had a moment of self-realization this morning. It occurred while I was on my stationary bike and glanced down at my exercise clothes. My black yoga pants are covered in paint splotches. Actually you’d be hard pressed to find a pair of jeans in my closet without at least a single spot of color, and then there is my big fluffy Pottery Barn robe that Dan gave me for Christmas a few years ago, that’s right, a nice big smattering of black paint right in the front of the robe. Then there are the countless shirts I’ve ruined, now labeled “paint shirts” because I can’t bear to throw them out because I like them so much. Why do I do this? Because when the mood strikes I go with it. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing, or what time it is, if I feel the need to paint, I just do it. This is the reason why I also own a number of paint stained nightgowns. (Very sexy I assure you) On countless occasions Dan has given me a piece of clothing with the warning, “I don’t want to see any paint on this.” Oops! I can’t help myself. I know, that is a lame excuse for what amounts to a little laziness. The truth is I’m not lazy in the least. I can barely sit still. I just get inside my creative brain and lose focus. Clothing doesn’t seem important. I have to admit clothing is not important to me unless I am going somewhere special. I pretty much spend my life in jeans and a shirt. Not that I don’t look nice. I always want Dan to think I look attractive. I am also my mother’s daughter. I don’t leave this house without full hair and makeup. I don’t own a pair of sweat pants, and will never own a pair of sweat pants. I feel that sweat pants are unnecessary to the universe. No one looks good in them, Brad Pitt and his significant other, Angelina, wouldn’t look good in sweat pants, and when you add a slogan across your ass, well, I have no words….OK, enough about that, my point is that when I feel a creative surge, I need to answer the call, despite the white slip covered couch I’m sitting on. I know, long rant, long explanation, possibly TMI, back to the self-realization. I have spoken at length about my struggle with perfectionism in my work. I apparently do not have this need for perfection in what I am wearing while I work, or to be honest, how I work. As rare as a California tornado would be, you might think one had happened by the time I finish working. It’s a mess! A giant mess, including me. Paint on my face, occasionally in my hair, all over my hands, and yes my clothes. With all of that indifference one might think that my work would come with that same sort carefree attitude, but it doesn’t. I will admit that I am letting go of a little of that, but I think before I work I need to pay a visit to my closet and take my cue from my poor paint splattered clothes, and make a mess on the canvas. I might just be surprised at the results.

For tonight, a not quite finished project. One of the best gifts in my life in the last year has been the addition of my new son-in-law, and of course John has family too. Among them some very adorable children, and since I have no grandchildren…hint, hint, no pressure…I was in search of something to draw, so I am borrowing some grandchildren. This is Keira. She isn’t quite finished, but I have a date tonight with my husband. I’ll be finishing Keira up tomorrow, and then begin working on a painting of one of her equally beautiful sisters.

7 20

Kindred Spirits

Posted on by | 2 Comments

If you are really lucky in life you will have one really good friend. I consider myself very fortunate in that I have four or five women in my life that I know without a doubt could be called upon for any occasion, good and bad, that would be there for me without hesitation.  I am also blessed to have a husband who without question is the best friend I’ve ever had. I’ve always loved Lucy Maud Montgomery’s book “Anne of Green Gables”. Anne finds her kindred spirit in Diana. I have three sisters, but I believe I may have found the fourth. Twins, possibly separated at birth. ( It just might be possible, we were both born in Canada)   Theresa is my Diana, my kindred spirit. Dan always says that he doesn’t know what we would do without each other. I think he is right.  We have leaned on each other quite a bit in the last few years. When I first came to California I didn’t know a single soul, it was lonely and I missed my family terribly. I of course gradually met people, some of them the same irreplaceable, wonderful women I mentioned above. The story of how Theresa and I became friends is really quite lovely. Her son, Zachary is a friend of my son, Brian. Zach was at our house quite a bit and was often offered something to eat. I’ve mentioned often in this blog how much I love to cook and bake. Zach would often ask me if he could bring a little something home to his mother to try. When he got home he would tell Theresa that I sent food for her to try. Sneaky plan, but so wonderful! Eventually Zach told his mother that we should meet, he thought we should be friends. Zachary is a very intuitive young man. Today is Theresa’s birthday, and because she is such a light in my life I wanted to give her a little light in return. My project today is a hurricane lamp. I printed four panels vellum using photos of my paintings. All four paintings were floral, I had considered using pears because she does have a (dare I say it?) pear fetish. It is an addiction that I usually feed, but today I wanted something different for her. The panels are applied to plexiglass, and then attached at the corners. I trimmed the corners out with color strips I printed on canvas paper and copper tape. Throw a candle in the middle and it looks pretty cool. I just might have to make one for myself. Happy Birthday my dear friend.

IMG_9735IMG_9737IMG_9734IMG_9736

Just Listen

Late night post, one of those days when I over schedule myself. I always think I can do more than time allows for.  Alas, as always neglecting to put myself first, and again not making art a priority. I think I’m producing good work these days, but I also think that I could produce better work if I gave it the time. It seems to me that too many of us feel guilty when we give to ourselves. What a difference we could all make in our own lives if we  allowed ourselves the time to be quiet and find what it is we love. The noise and obligation of every day life drowns out our inner voices. Have you ever tried to hear yours? I wake nearly every day to a promise that today will be the day where I make that time for me, and every time I make that promise I break it. I am the kind of person who is good for their word. If I say that I will do something then it gets done even if I don’t feel like it. Not for myself.  Do you make the New Year’s list? The list of all the ways you will be better? My life is that list. A trail of paper lists and empty notebooks. It really is my last hurdle. Lately I’ve been cleaning out boxes of paper. So many hours lost tearing out ideas for projects, paintings, or just stuff to read. The collecting became the project. Not that I didn’t do a few. There always needs to be something to justify what I’m doing, a promise of something on the road ahead is better than the thought of an empty life, so every now and then I would look through the boxes and do something. Mostly I just reorganized the paper. I’m done with that. Maybe it’s time to stop making promises before time runs out. I did however notice that the piles of papers to read had a recurring theme, self-esteem. (The O magazine in particular, it’s like the self-help bible) I had an epiphany of sorts today. As I was looking through the papers I realized that I no longer want or need to read those self-esteem articles. This project has done incredible things for me. I’m not all the way home where my self-esteem is concerned, but following through on this one promise to myself has made a difference, it has introduced me to some confidence in my artistic life, something I never thought I’d have. I just realized that maybe I had my quiet moment and it led me here.

Tonight a Hollyhock in watercolor on paper. I love Hollyhocks, they apparently do not like me. I planted some three years ago in my garden. They lived for a few months and were gone. I was very upset that they didn’t return the next Spring. They did return, but not for me. They have been lurking on the other side of the fence. The side where a neighbor who does not care lives. For the entire summer there have been two dead stalks of something that tower over the fence. How does she not see them? Why doesn’t she cut them down? Why are they bothering me so much? And then it shows its face, the Hollyhock, my Hollyhock (I know she didn’t plant them), tangled up with the dead stalks, peering over my fence, taunting me. Betrayed by a garden flower.

 

7 18

Two Of A Kind

Posted on by | Leave a comment

Last night I promised the “Natalie” nickname story, but before I get into that I wanted to explain my choice of title and subject for this evening. Two of a kind. As I  explained the other day, as a child I looked just like my dad. Neither of my two children look exactly like me. My son resembles Dan’s family much more than he does mine, although my Dad claims that Brian looks like him. (Of course, because he is handsome. See Natalie story at the bottom of the page, it will explain everything) Brian has my teeth, famously known around here as “Osmond” teeth, they’re big, Osmond big. When I was younger I could do a mean Marie. She and I are only days apart in age, although my face still looks like me. (Just saying..) Jessica is a real mixture of her Dad and I. When she was younger she resembled him more, now I see a lot of myself. I bring this up because the piece I painted tonight is from a photo Jessica took in Ireland. In 2009 my Dad wanted to take all four of his daughters, their husbands, and the eight grandchildren to Ireland.  I didn’t go. Love my family dearly, but me on a bus with my family for ten days would not have been pretty. Fortunately my lovely husband and I were celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary.  Oh, so sorry, can’t go to Ireland because I’m going to Paris. (Have I mentioned how much I love my husband?)  I had also been to Ireland twice before, and had dreamed of going to Paris my entire life. No question about which trip I was taking. So, while my children were in Ireland with my family, (Ha ha) I was in France with the love of my life. This is where the two of a kind part comes in. I took more than two thousand pictures in France, Jessica wasn’t too far behind in Ireland. Two different countries, two different photographers, the pictures? Interchangeable. We take the same shots the same way. Same angles, same detail shots, same composition. The only difference is that she occasionally allows humans into hers, mine are landscape only. (I even photo-shopped an unfortunate tourist out of one of my pictures, sorry. She really shouldn’t have been wearing those sweat pants.  And, because no one told everyone to get off Monet’s bridge over the water lilies in Giverny….gone, sorry once again)  Jessica is also very artistic, a graphic designer by trade. Beautiful work and I’m not even biased.

When Brian was small he began to paint, he was three. He would watch Wile e Coyote and the Roadrunner and then paint desert scenes. I was thrilled. Then he grew a little and realized we might have something in common (God forbid!) so he quit. I think he spent years denying he actually had a mother. One of the nicest things that has happened with this project is that my son now wants me to teach him how to paint. I’ve waited nearly twenty years to hear that lovely request.  I might also add he has a good eye for photography as well. I’m a proud mother OK?

The “Natalie” story. Here it is… my Dad, as I have stated previously is quite a character. He is also quite narcissistic. He is a good-looking man, even now at eighty he still looks good, and since he sounds like he just got off the boat, (he got off in 1956) his brogue is quite attractive to the ladies. Since I looked like him as a child he gave me the nickname Natalie. No it isn’t my middle name, that is Frances. (I’m named for Jackie Kennedy, middle initial F., last initial A. Get it? J.F.A….J.F.K.? We’re Irish Catholic need I say more?) Natalie is for the beautiful Natalie Wood. Why? Because I looked like my Dad and if he were a woman he would look like Natalie Wood. Really. I wouldn’t lie to you. Slightly twisted, but you have to admit entertaining. By the way, my artistic talent isn’t mine, its his. He told me so. It’s kind of like osmosis, his thoughts, his ideas, my hands, I kid you not.

So in honor of my slightly strange Dad, and because I love him, a little watercolor of his favorite place on Earth, Ireland. Photo by Jessica, painting by Jackie (alias Mom)

7 17

We Are All Artists

Posted on by | 2 Comments

OK, I know last night I said I would be entertaining all of you (and me) with my writing, and had intended on telling you all the reason behind the “Natalie” nickname, (which really is worth the wait…stay tuned until tomorrow) but then I received a comment from someone who reads this blog. ( This is where I’ll be getting all philosophical again) The person who sent me a comment (and I publicly thank you again) said that they wished they were talented like me. What he failed to realize, and I told him so in my reply, is that he is an artist. I read his blog, a place where spirituality is the subject. Beautiful words, beautifully written, as I said in reply, he paints pictures with his words and prayers. In my family we all have our assigned roles. My older sister is the smart, educated one, I am next, the weirdo, the artist, the quiet one, then there is the funny one, and finally the baby. We all have so much more to offer than those labels would imply. (To respect their privacy I will only use initials) M is the oldest, and yes, very smart and the most educated, but she is also very gifted with her hands, just in a different way than me. Sewing, knitting, needlework, beautiful, beautiful work. I am next, obviously artistic, but also very smart, and on occasion quite funny. C is next. Funniest woman I know. I can’t spend an evening with her without crying from laughter. G, “The Baby”, is anything but a baby. Strong, smart, and I think the most athletic of us (we know it’s not me). Unfortunately, despite how much our parents love us, sometimes they just don’t think. M’s creativity is overlooked, it isn’t her place, it’s mine. C was complaining once to my dad (not sure about what), his response? “Look at Jackie, sure she can paint but she has no personality”.  (And one wonders why I have issues) C is a very intelligent woman, who can multi task with no match, and an artist in the garden. (Note to the powers that be at Wrigley Field, this woman will give you a playing field to die for, and she’s a fan) She has no appreciation of how smart she is. She had two concussions as a child within weeks of each other. The story of how smart she was before “the accident” is family legend. The implication might make you think she was brain-damaged, not so much, very smart lady, and no one can be that quick-witted and dumb.  Finally G, as I said nobody’s baby. She ends up in management where ever she works. Also a beautiful baker, makes gorgeous pastries, creative right? The mere fact that anyone is writing a blog is creative. Putting a beautiful meal on the table is creative. Composing a speech, writing a song, raising a child, each is creative. We all have it within us to be an artist. My point is that we all have something to offer, it doesn’t have to be with a brush or a pencil, those are just my tools of choice.

And by the way, I have been told that I actually do have a personality.

For tonight, my handsome son Brian. I saw a photo in the LA Times many years ago that I loved. This afternoon Brian was kind enough to sit for a portrait for me, posed in a similar way to the photo as I remembered it. Watercolor on paper.IMG_0341