Yesterday I painted like a madman, and it felt great. It was one of those sensationally beautiful Florida winter kind of days, sunny, crisp, and cool enough to wear a sweater. I had to go outside; there was really no helping it... That "itch" to head out and paint has been following close as a shadow lately, and getting closer. For me, that is an excellent thing, maybe the best thing. And so everything came together, miraculous in a quiet sort of way. It is always a sweet experience to give in to a blessing...

There is no explaining it, really, and so I give you one of my favorite poems, by the sublime, resolutely drunken, and utterly cantankerous Charles Bukowski:  

the click of miracle   

at the quarterhorse meet
at Hollywood Park

around 5 p.m.

if you are sitting at
ground level

in the
Pavilion

the track appears
to
be

above you

and

in the strange
shadow-
sunlight

the silks
are
so
bright

the color
is
like

fresh paint
on
canvas

and

the faces of
the
jocks
look

heroic.

it's a
grand
time

then

a perfect
and
peaceful

photograph

dream-
like.

such small
moments

keep

people
alive.

such small
moments

so
large

when

it

all

comes
together

and

holds.

This is a fairly large canvas at 40" square, so I had quite a session. I set up my easel and supplies just next door, in the backyard of the Mission facing back towards our house.

After two or three hours it occurred to me to put down the brushes, as paint was flying everywhere anyway, and squeeze globs of color directly from the tubes on to the canvas. I was looking for nice chunky texture in the canopy above. The last hour and some my fingers danced across the canvas, playing with the color, allowing a creative freedom the brushes (though willing) could not give me.

I was a mess. My hands looked like a psychedelic rainbow. It was fun.

The painting will live up to its name. Though no flowering blossoms are to be seen just yet, they are present, in force, and ready to burst into profligate color day by day. They truly know no shame. Thank God!

The thin, textured "stringbeans" hanging down are blossoms, ready to "happen."

Most of the green you see above the ground in the painting, including the wildly twisting branches, is the jade vine plant. This one, a gift from us to our former neighbor and "forever friend" Vivian Howard about ten years ago, always produced flowers as if there were to be no tomorrow. Maybe it knows something that we do not, and maybe it doesn't. But in either case, now seems an excellent time to follow its lead, and seek out and express our passions as never before. The good news is: never have we had so little to lose. Nor so much to gain.

Note to self: trade in constant "busyness" in every waking moment for time to breathe: to savor, anticipate, and appreciate. The drama is all around, and I mean everywhere, all the time, and of every conceivable type, shape, size, etc., etc. So the question is: what kind will you choose to "tune in" to? Do we not make such choices every day? Are we not always free to "choose again?"

O.K., got it. I'll add that to my list. : ) Sigh...

Thanks for stopping in. I do appreciate it.