This was a Sunday morning that I would like to duplicate every week.
I have teenagers who continue to prove that sleeping in on weekends will continue for nearly every teenager (or they will try) until the end of time. In the peace of 7am and the grayness outside, I brewed the coffee, filled my water bucket, and sat down to paint in my home studio space (which is, um, comfortably behind the couch, in the living room).
While I'm working on different projects, half of my time is shared almost equally by my actual "work" (the job that pays) and household "mom duties" and “life things and people I love”. The other half seems to be all about art...either in my head, drawn on paper, or partially painted. There are stacks of recycled wood pieces that I have plans for in my head, new tubes of paint, frames, charcoal, new oil paints, turpentine - all ready and waiting.
I suppose I feel appreciative of the Winter months, for the ability (or requirement in the 15 degrees) to crank up the heat, light candles, and wear my sweat pants to work just ten feet from my coffee pot.
I don't feel like I need to be anywhere else.
Drudgery tasks hopefully will lessen by Summer - Inspiration will hopefully not wane - Paint time will surely be optimized.
In the quiet this morning, I walked around our little home, where my girls and I have lived for exactly 12 years. The art has changed over the years, right along with life.