There is a painter inside of me busting to get out. She talks to me, while I am working – makes suggestions, helps me pick the right brush, encourages different strokes.
I like it when she is present. Listening to her is an act of letting go. It is a form of trusting. A growing confidence.
I feel as if I am aligned to a creative force.
The painting classes I signed up for didn’t go. Not enough participants. No matter. Now that I’ve started on this journey, I’m not willing to give up.
So I try harder.
My paints are out most days now. On the days when the muse is present, I attempt ambitious pieces – works that require hours of concentration, and patience.
When she is absent, I practice techniques inspired by Instagram or YouTube videos.
Clouds still elude me, but my trees are improving.
I am pleased with how my use of colours has progressed.
I love that painting, like writing is always evolving. So hopeful.
What inspires hope in your life?