I am sitting here after the most amazing day at the studio. I feel all accomplished when I go there. I feel like I'm a real artist.
Today, I started a commission, but only after praying my daughter from Dulles Airport, to downtown DC where she walked through pummeling rain by herself with a guitar, kavu and carryon and got herself to Fredericksburg, VA via metro, buses and trains. At one point, as I prayed, I saw two huge angels escorting my "baby girl" as she walked the streets of downtown Washington, DC where I had a summer internship at her age. In one of our phone chats trying to figure out where she should be, I told her about the angels. She said, "Well, all three of us are soaking wet then."
This was not the original plan.
But it was the reality.
Today, I couldn't think. So I had to paint my prayers. These prayer pages are really primitive, but they are valuable to me as an artist. They teach me to paint not just what I observe, but what I am feeling. Someday, those two things will merge onto my canvases.
If you look closely, you'll see Laina's profile and her guitar in the window behind her.
Meanwhile in the studio... The tables were packed with coffee lovers. I had one divine appointment after another today and got very little painting done.
But these days are interesting. I get to do more church at coffee tables than I ever did in a pew. But invariably, people will look at one of Jed's paintings behind my easel and say, "Wow. Did you do that?" I usually say, "I wish." But today I said, "No, the magic ones are Jed's."
I represent Jed all day and help people know about his work, classes and when they might catch him at the studio. I rarely talk about my own paintings. And because I love them so much, this makes me super happy.
And yet, my own work is selling somehow. And almost always, my paintings sell when I am not there so I have no way of knowing what type of person likes them. (So much for identifying my target audience...LOL)
I am happier at the studio than anywhere (except snuggling at home with my family whenever we are all home.)
As I sit here at home on the couch, I am still wearing a necklace that says, "Comparison is the thief of joy." I am also wearing a key to the storage room in the carport of my childhood home in Alabama.