Everyday seems the same lately. Coffee - breakfast - hike the dog - chores - and into the studio until it's time to make dinner. Go to bed and get up the next day to do it all over again. I'm whining but I'm not complaining. In these uncertain times, isolating ourselves from one another, I'm one of the lucky ones. Everyday I have a place of refuge. A place that brings welcome challenges and most often, this place brings me joy. Through the windows above my work table the occasional group of deer wander by, busy birds and squirrels going from tree to tree. And I enjoy hearing the neighbor kids laughing and playing in their yards, adjacent to mine. Their laughter assures me that there is indeed hope.
I think my studio is what Virginia Woolf was referring to when she wrote A Room of One's Own. Here, I get to play with brushes and tools, experiment with surfaces and color and chemicals. I get to be messy and play with abandon. My dog Nellie is with me. She sleeps most of the time but will remind me she's here at the most inconvenient time - like when I'm up to my elbows in paint and my head is somewhere in the clouds. But it's all good. And I'm so grateful. Grateful for my space to be me, to paint what I want to say, to be interrupted by the nudge of Nellie's wet nose, and for the beautiful places outside she takes me to
when she thinks I need a break.
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