I went to the memorial for my friend who committed suicide today. Unlike many before it, this ceremony refused to ignore that he took his own life, or, as one put it, "opted out". He was horribly depressed for the last year, and ran out of solutions. He went right to the source, as another put it. So, sad and lost, I came home (first time I left the pup alone, too), got into my grubs and began a new painting. Lots of joy in that process, and I needed a lift. This is how it all begins, the pastels. Scratch away at the paper, get the idea there, scratch some more. For some reason, it seems easier to know when something is done in this medium. Of course, there are those works which just don't speak to me. That is why God made two sides to the paper, you know. This one is a wonder from the beginning. I get that horses are something I love to paint, all that power and majesty. So much to be in awe of on our tiny blue ball whirling about the cosmos. This one is for you, Roger.
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