Soothing the inner beast...

Despite the fact that these are frugal times, I contracted my artist friend to build me a canvas, 2 X 3 feet, to insure that I will, this summer, when school is a distant memory and a future dream, paint the picture I want in my living room. I already have the reference photo, an incandescent shot of my roses in the backyard. This one bush puts out blooms of many different hues: pink, orange, yellow and all shades in between. I caught it in the first light to creep over the fence it borders. It is positively luscious. And though the moment when I can begin is still 2 months away, I am already savoring that seminal moment when my brush first meets canvas, and the tooth of the fabric bites into the pigment. My method, which I developed to suit my temperament, is to put the whole aspect of the scene on the canvas at first sitting (well, actually, standing), all the colors in their assigned quadrant, so that it emerges with a brilliance that keeps me interested (I am a Gemini, easily distracted). Not to say that I am anywhere near brilliant in my artistry. I think the idea is to have a lot of fun, like a kindergartener with finger paints. Man, I loved the days when we did that. It was the only time I remember having permission to be delightfully messy. Oil paints are so wonderfully expressive, and very forgiving; one can always go back in and paint over any faux pas. Sort of what life should be like, right?