Slowly, the motivation to paint returns. The ability was always there. I could pick up a brush and make a mark. When I was in survival mode, other things took my attention away from creating.
I’ve been giving myself time. Time to heal. Time to rest. Time to feel comfortable. As thoughts about painting came more frequently, I respected them as I would a timid cat or a frightened dog. I cleared a studio space. I brought my easel in from the garage. I unpacked my paints. I didn’t want to scare it away or get bit.
Among my art supplies was a new, large canvas. I unwrapped it and returned to a familiar theme in my comfort zone. I painted a scene of the Gunflint Pines. I’ve been poking at it with a paintbrush from time to time over the last week or so.
Today I started an abstract. This is my third painting since moving into this house.
Paintings are unpredictable, like the days of my life. I don’t know how they will turn out. Paintings and days are journeys full of brushstrokes and footsteps. I walk down a familiar path, and then take a turn to see something new.
I remember how to walk and how to paint.