I saw my neighbor opossum on my way to studio tonight, climbing the fence by the compost pile and watching me carefully but not very fearfully. Last time I saw them, they hid behind a shovel with their tail sticking out, and stayed there for quite a long while.

I have named them Rustle.

Feeling a little less stuck today. I had imagined a much more sinister character when I started this one, but then the penguin happened, and the tree thing couldn’t help but almost smile.

Still feeling stuck, without inspiration, not taking the usual pleasure from my studio time. But I feel OK about this picture anyhow. And I did spend the time, and do the practice.

I spilled a bottle of ink trying to open it, so this was kind of an exercise in working with whatever happens. And saucy hip-bumps.

I’ve been feeling uncomfortable lately with trusting my intuitive art sense. I don’t feel called to make a particular kind of mark or image when I start, and I don’t know where I’m going once I do get started. My inner critics remind me that I really don’t have anything important to say in my artwork, and I’m just wasting resources and time indulging myself. When I could be doing something useful.

Sigh.

The practice is to say, I know, I hear and recognize these thoughts, but I am going to carry on regardless. Maybe I know more than you (inner critics) think I know, and I won’t figure that out unless I just keep doing the thing. And anyway, here are some colors, and some lines, and some nice blobs of paint.

recovery day after my covid booster, I just want to curl up in a warm soft place until my immune system finishes being all stressed out