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While I’m not happy about the fact that you watch Chicken Little three times a day on occasion, I can at least smile knowing it slowed you down enough for me to paint your portrait. Also, thank you for letting me paint again today while you watched the movie. Again. I’m trying to be the artist who can write a check for a trip to the Cascades so you can finally see Ranier and Hood and St. Helens in person. Because you are so so so worth it. And because I love you so so much. Well, I’d better get back to work. |
Renewal
On June 14, 2005 I quoted one of my favorite artists, Georgia O’Keefe:
I decided to start anew — to strip away what I had been taught, to accept as true my own thinking. This was one of the best times of my life. There was no one around to look at what I was doing, no one interested, no one to say anything about it one way or another. I was alone and singularly free, working into my own unknown — no one to satisfy but myself. I began with charcoal and paper and decided not to use any color until it was impossible to do what I wanted to do in black and white. I believe it was June before I needed blue.

I started this blog one year ago with one mission: to document another quickly passing year before my memory fades. The kids are growing like beans, their life compressed in a blur of wonderful, remarkable moments of discovery. If not for myself, I’ve been motivated to return to the page every day (or maybe not as often, while I always try) knowing that a grandparent or a travelling Damon may be curious to see what we are doing from day to day. It’s a powerful tool, this added external pressure.
A year has already whirred by and I’m ruffled in its wake. But I’m finding a new perspective in this drift, like one does when the painting is turned sideways, and I’m finding that there’s room for more than me:
There’s the mother I’ve never met who wakes up on a Saturday morning, or the mother who takes time during her child’s naptime and spends a minute not only to read my latest post, but to comment on it. There’s the wonderful writer I admire who, at every post, encourages me to keep writing by leaving constructive criticism. And then there’s the enormous mass of you who may never comment at all, but who I am AMAZED and flattered to know spend their time coming back to pick up whatever peanuts I’ve left on the blog. Our humble life here in central Texas plays out to the swirling symphony of children and crickets and a running dishwasher and lo, I’ll be damned if there isn’t someone pulling up this blog on his or her computer every few seconds. The comments are flattering, and every single one is cherished, but the actual traffic (the stats I pull up and analyze–and I do!) just blows me away.
Thank You.
And now, it’s time to renew. I thought it would be nice to make a list of blog priorities:
1. I need a gallery.
2. I need to share more creative catalysts, soul vitamins. Tutorials.
3. I’m still going to relentlessly catblog about my children, no apologies
4. The blog is getting a spa treatment, as time warrants
5. To be fair, there will probably be plenty of house-building drama this year. Add category.
6. And when I need mental vacation, like a long-winded haiku I will continue to post a moment of zen from the day.
7. New category: (drumroll) Home. Schooling.
( Hark! Rattling crickets! Frantic nail-biting!)
Peace. And thanks for stopping by,
*s
Painting With Chas
It’s really too hot to paint outside during that quiet time of the day when the kids are centered. If I leave Chas to paint alone on the floor in the kitchen, I begin to prickle with anxiety, because it’s never long before paint begins flying across the room towards the wool rug (which, being wool, easily stains. And which, for the record, I refuse to live without.) It’s a high stakes gamble, but one I can avoid if I sit him on my lap at the kitchen table.
So there we sat, yesterday, and I found I was able to engage him for a longer period of time than usual, simply by painting alongside him, on the same page. Normally, I’d discourage this–it goes completely against my teaching style, which is to let them simply create on their own. But he seemed to enjoy telling me what he was doing, which colors should go where, and he thought what I did was funny. He loved sharing the piece of paper, maybe it reminds him of sitting on my lap when we read a story. For this reason, it felt just right.

