Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
"We Three"
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Van Gogh I am not, sigh....
Long, long day, all spent standing up or walking around. The gods were good to us, though, it was not terribly hot, and we found an ideal place to paint, under a little tree by the lake. I dressed as I assumed an artist would: cargo shorts, tank top, big denim shirt and sensibly comfortable, big leather sandals. Oh, and my slouchy straw hat with a sunflower pinned on it. I found that I was right in fashion, though overalls might have been better. I selected the vista across the lake that included the Marin Civic Center, a Frank Lloyd Wright creation in pastel blue and creamy stucco. My painting was mediocre, as I am a fledgling still, and just happy to be out doing it. I did not win anything, except the satisfaction of braving my own fear of inadequacy. And I am awfully whipped today, after about 9 hours, mostly on my feet. The paintings are on display for the rest of the fair, and that's sweet enough for me.
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