Sunday Morning Meditations

Experimenting in my watercolor sketchbook

It is winter proper; the cold weather, such as it is, has come to stay. I bloom indoors like a forced forsythia; I come in to come out. At night I read and write, and things I have never understood become clear; I reap the harvest of the rest of the year’s planting.

Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

It is Sunday morning and I have found a measure of comfort practicing my watercolor (above), reading Annie Dillard (above) and scribbling page after page in my journal. Soon I’ll leave for the hospital, and wish I could report improvements in Dad’s health. But at this time, I cannot.

Though it is not winter, I feel every sentence of Annie’s sentiment recorded above. I’m grateful that my sister has provided lodging for me instead of my staying in a hotel room. She and her husband have kept me grounded. Every day is a rhythm of hospital sitting, awaiting news on Dad’s situation, and driving back to the house to keep myself sane with art, music (I brought my guitar and it provides comfort), reading, thinking, writing, and visiting with Bob & Cheryl. And every time I read something oracular to me, I record it in the journal and write pages of ideas born from those precious words.

At this moment in my life, I cannot make art for the market. I’m too much on the move, and the only supplies I brought were the bare bones tools for plein air work. I’ve also been sketching in the sketchbook. Doing this keeps me sane, even if the results aren’t pleasing to the eye. When I finally return to Texas, I’ll probably get back into my studio rhythm, and hopefully be better instead of worse at my craft. I’m just trying to keep the tip of the spear sharp in the meantime. And art is providing solace when all else is trying to pull me downward.

Thanks for reading.


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