“Being an artist means forever healing your wounds, and at the same time, endlessly exposing them”
I love autumn and am feeling renewed excitement for the future. It is the end of summer, and the sun has been crisp and clear. The flowers are bright with oranges and yellow hues. The shadows are growing longer. I contemplate my new home, expanded family and the adventures ahead. I plan to put a bigger emphasis on the Riverhouse Art Studio which, for now, looks like it will connect to the main door which is part of my husband’s architectural business in our new house next Spring. I am hoping this will invite students and customers, verses being pushed aside by an already successful business.
My emotions are all over the map. I fear that I will evaporate and I fear also that I will be so exposed. (I have expressed how much I need solitude.) But there is hope in my heart circling around the drama of life. I envision space for my grandchildren and for my fur kids.
Nature has been sweet this week. I have arrived home with a flock of wild turkey on my front lawn. My two cats had huge eyes and wagging tails in our window, staring at them frolicking around like they were quite pleased. The turkey are practically tame. They don’t even run away as I walk up the steps to the front door. I came home to a momma doe with twin fawn bambi’s. That was beautiful. I was driving my sons car and it was a bit loud driving up my drive way with the sound of my large dog deep bark…so they were scared and ran away.
But nothing compares to the harvest moon.
The nights have been magical, cool air clears my mind, the moon is brilliant, white and high up in the starlight sky, she, the moon, seemed jewel like, almost spiraling and I understood how ancient humans worshiped the magnificence, and even thought the moon was a god. The harvest moon is pulsing, clear and special. I feel hope and renewed strength.
My painting has a corner that needs to be tweaked. I usually am a prolific artist but the last two seem arduous. Maybe I just need to learn the lesson of patience. Maybe I am too distracted. Maybe I analogize too much.
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