Immovable Objects

A cold wave has descended on this part of Florida and, in response, I've burrowed further into my snug apartment. Cold constricts the body, slows mental function, and, in my case, causes thinking to become more reflective. I gaze out the window, drink cups of jasmine tea and wonder about art making.

Two months ago I abandoned my studio to the wrecking ball of someone's progress and now make art out of this little apartment. The dining room table is my drawing board, the living room morphed into a framing and storage area. No space is neglected and each night I sleep above stacks of finished drawings pushed underneath the bed.

Paul Klee worked for years on his kitchen table. A friend creates beautiful paintings on canvases leaned against his garage wall. How can I feel bad about paints and solvents stacked on my kitchen counter. There is still the opportunity to create works of art that have never been done before.

Today, however, I am content to simply wonder about it.

Hot Tea

I recently completed this small painting, the first since a devastating fire last December destroyed my studio and most of my art work. Going through the rubble one day, I was surprised to discover a favorite tea cup sitting alone atop the charred remains of my desk. In awe that anything had survived the inferno, I carried the cup home and placed it on a shelf with other pottery.

After a few days of enjoying its refired beauty, I decided to test the cup's major function, holding tea. Hot water pooling on the counter told me it had not come through intact.

I brought the cup with me when I finally moved into a new studio. More than anything, I wanted to again make art, but grief became a roadblock against inspiration. Staring for long periods at the stout container that accompanied me through many creative journeys, I longed for a hot cup of tea. And so, slowly at first, savoring the process, I began to paint.