Well lately I’ve been spending time in my studio creating/redoing large abstracts. My space, in the Temescal neighborhood in Oakland, is perfect. I can splatter paint and make messes, I can store large paintings, there is a sink for cleaning out brushes drippy with acrylic paints, I have a cushy chair I can sit in and cry when I need to, and my landlady kindly assists in installing shelves and rag racks. Yesterday I finished up this painting, and again I’m curious about choosing those crazy colors in this dark December when family grief sits like a heavy cloud on my head. I watched a documentary about Bob Ross last night (Netflix, I recommend it), and his joy in painting was genuine. And his demos creating a “happy little tree” attracted thousands of viewers to his TV show, bringing encouragement and hope (and, in one case, the prevention of a suicide). I’m not going to paint on TV any time soon (not to mention I can’t stand being observed while I paint), but I get the excitement at creating art. It absolutely heals and buoys my soul, and today a cherished neighbor sent me a loving, kind text, complimenting me on a small painting she bought from me yesterday. Though today I am frustrated and discouraged that my many attempts at fixing a leaky spot in my roof have failed (drip drip in the living room), and my heart aches from painful family legacies, I can always paint. This colorful corner in my life fills me with gladness; I can always go there and make splashy puddles of wet pinks, yellows, blues and greens on canvas and paper. And I will. Like, right now.

28.5″ x 31″ acrylic, oil pastel on canvas (stretched) = $1295