I have been sucked into a piece I'm working on. It has been calling to me throughout the day and anytime I had a minute, I ran up to the studio to add a stroke of paint or a layer of tissue. She is quite a bit further along than this picture I took last night. Her branches are done and the base layers are all painted. I love how her body and face are coming along, her hair needs a bit more tightening up and she needs a bit more background depth. I'm a bit of a flighty painter, if it takes to long I generally get bored and do something else which is why I love my art journal so much. But this lady is calling to me with her deep roots, hair of flames, luscious hips. And of course it's the weekend so there are three rugrats all over, wanting snacks and to be entertained. I comply but a rather large piece of my mind is up in my tiny studio, listening to the call of my muse. For the first time in a long time I find myself longing for Monday and the quiet that comes along when the school bus pulls away.
Here is yesterdays spread in my journal. I did another page but I won't share it, it's too personal. I'm not one to hide my feelings or thoughts, my journal is open for anyone with a computer to read. I'm not perfect and I've made mistakes and had some pretty shitty stuff go down in my life but I don't mind sharing that, it's our experiences that make us stronger and more human. But the thoughts I had late last night were about something that is not my story to tell. And while I'm an open book I will repect the privacy of others and not share personal information without their permission.
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