Today I spent a few precious hours in my local Starbucks painting and reading.
With every page I read of A Movable Feast by Hemingway, the desire to pick up my brush and paint became harder and harder to deny. I love how his writing is a continues stream of thoughts, honest, somewhat blunt, partially funny, but always true. You know how he feels without himself telling you in a cliche way. What a gift! I want my paintings to have that truth.
Right now I'm working on a concept (not yet put on paper) that will involve fabric studies and reference photographs. Maybe I'll let you in on it this week.. hmm.
While I mulled these thoughts over I put in so time on my sisters' gift.
Now an elaborate chandelier and a bitter sweet girl hold center stage.