Sometime starting over means starting over
Sitting here thinking about how to think. I've gotten dumber over the past two years, I used to be able to solve problems faster, or at least recognize them as problems. My art courses are by a wonderful landscape painter, Chris Reed. He lets me do whatever in class as I am not a landscape painter; I have an entire profolio of works entitled: This is why I am not a landscape painter. We have a drawing class—where starting over begins. But the other class is in oils. I love oils. I have never done oils. Oils is not a place where you start over when you are a watercolor painter. I've been spinning my wheels for a year now with oils. Yeah, I said I was getting dumber by the hour.
What must happen is constant drawing and relearning the basics of watercolors. In the past I knew enough not to move on until becoming proficient enough in the basics. I was born into watercolors. Drawing goes without saying, but I am saying it: no drawing no painting. No woman no cry—am I Bob Marley now? Hope so.
So tonight—Samhain, the old Celtic time when the veil between the living and the dead becomes thinnest. But it's not that those gone are not with me—always. Am thankful for that for I can hear their voices and feel their presence within me.
My generation and everything that was part of it is slowly sliding into the sea. Talking with someone the other day who didn't know who Chuck Berry was. On the other hand I just bought The Eggplant That Ate Chicago off of iTunes.
