Every week I get several hours to paint and draw. Make whatever my little heart desires. No kids, pandora radio and a few new-ish tubes of waterproof gouache.
Sounds cliche, but I am beginning to be inspired by the everyday. Maybe just the things we see all the time that we rush past. The things that aren't necessarily considered beautiful. Raising kids forces one to be in the present. There's no time to lolligag in those deep corners of your brain. There are shoes to put on, buckles to be buckled, tantrums to be squelched. Where is the time for imagination? Should I work harder to find it while I play with the kids?
When I lived in Las Vegas, I came back to Chicago for two weeks in March. I rode the el downtown to work for my former employer while he was doing flowers for the Park Hyatt in Dubai. It was cold in the city and so gray. I loved how the pigeons puffed themselves up into balls trying to keep warm at the el stops. I loved seeing the backs of all the apartment buildings, the garbage cans, the wear and tear of the street signs, how curbs crumbled a little, the trash that blew around. I loved how gritty it looked. In contrast to shiny Las Vegas, where history is erased and newer is better.
So below are my two newest paintings. I am working one day a week at the same outfit, and to leave at 6:30 am when it's still dark feels like I am slipping out into the night, escaping, leaving it all behind. Know what? It kinda feels awesome. I can pretend I feel reckless. with purpose.