today isn't about food or fashion or feeling pretty or interesting things outdoors...it's about an itch. After watching Woody Allen's Vicky Christina Barcelona for the first time, my oldest friend turned to me and informed me that the more she thought about it, the more she thought I was rather like Christina. Granted, I'm not about to get on a plane with a total stranger, Javier Bardem or not, and fly off to Oviedo {Fernando Alonso's birthplace!} with him on a lark.
Still, over the intervening years I've come to see her point: I'm never quite satisfied; once I get what I want & live with it for a bit, it turns out to be another example of what I don't want; I desperately want to be creative but never seem quite able to find a niche from whose bosom I won't run screaming from sooner or later; obsessive projects burn brightly and quickly flame away. It is all very much Scarlett Johansson's character.
Spring and the lure of a busy summer in the store, as always, is a trigger for an extra bit of restlessness. Suddenly, there are all sorts of projects to begin whether there will be time to complete them before work takes over my life or not. I'm wanting to learn to play the guitar again, to run around and take more pretty pictures {no snow + no green growth = unattractive Western Pennsylvania}, to begin running or bicycling, to wear only one layer instead of seven, to use vegetables not starches, and paint.
The last is the most vexing. My father has a habit of popping off rather lovely watercolors in the space of an evening. Watercolor and I do not mix well, unless you take that to mean "mix until everything is a muddy blob." Watercolor & I do that rather too well. and so, I've embarked on another of my creative endeavors, bound most likely to fall by the wayside in a month or two: acrylic painting. That is, once I run out of ideas. I've two completed, two I'm pondering, and some lovely colors just sitting, cheering me on. For now, they hang in my house, but I am considering {after a lot more practice} asking if they might hang at the local coffee shop for some unsuspecting blind person to buy. I'll let you know how it goes.
"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor
Still, over the intervening years I've come to see her point: I'm never quite satisfied; once I get what I want & live with it for a bit, it turns out to be another example of what I don't want; I desperately want to be creative but never seem quite able to find a niche from whose bosom I won't run screaming from sooner or later; obsessive projects burn brightly and quickly flame away. It is all very much Scarlett Johansson's character.
Spring and the lure of a busy summer in the store, as always, is a trigger for an extra bit of restlessness. Suddenly, there are all sorts of projects to begin whether there will be time to complete them before work takes over my life or not. I'm wanting to learn to play the guitar again, to run around and take more pretty pictures {no snow + no green growth = unattractive Western Pennsylvania}, to begin running or bicycling, to wear only one layer instead of seven, to use vegetables not starches, and paint.
The last is the most vexing. My father has a habit of popping off rather lovely watercolors in the space of an evening. Watercolor and I do not mix well, unless you take that to mean "mix until everything is a muddy blob." Watercolor & I do that rather too well. and so, I've embarked on another of my creative endeavors, bound most likely to fall by the wayside in a month or two: acrylic painting. That is, once I run out of ideas. I've two completed, two I'm pondering, and some lovely colors just sitting, cheering me on. For now, they hang in my house, but I am considering {after a lot more practice} asking if they might hang at the local coffee shop for some unsuspecting blind person to buy. I'll let you know how it goes.
"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor
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