At times I go into my studio full of piss and vinegar ready to paint the hell out of a canvas and hours later come up flattened and deflated and I’m thinking, “Why do I dare call myself an artist? Who do I think I am?” Then on a random afternoon I see the red leaf picked up the day before on a walk that I had placed in my kitchen windowsill and the way the sun is hitting it, it’s so rich and vibrant it makes my teeth hurt. And I toss out my to-do list and push aside the bottles of vitamins and water pitchers and glasses on my kitchen counter and pull out my Daniel Smith paints and am swallowed up by the splashy joy of wet, juicy magentas and reds. One simple, vibrantly-hued leaf, pulled from a wet heap of wind-tossed maple leaves, cornered in a hotel parking lot. And my own mini paint-storm. Bursts of creative energies. I willingly let them take over my afternoon. And I remember how in love I am with watercolor.
6″ x 8″ watercolor, pen on paper = $60