9x12
I sit and wonder- how soon will I have before the rain hits- the clouds are moving this way but I sniff the air-" no smell of rain yet" and keep on painting. Mount Blanca is shrouded by a large ominous cloud; rain is falling there. I paint and ponder, "why do I feel as if I live in two different worlds?" and "Why is it so hard to pass back and forth between them?"
I was talking to Coni about the huge letdown that happens after coming home from a paint out. Is it exhaustion? I sincerely doubt it, because paint outs are tiring but also exhilarating at the same time. I think that it it's more the fact that trying to pass back into the role of mom, dad, or another job is difficult business.
I look at the harvested barley fields. There is something about that light ochre that entices me to paint it over and over again. I hurry to beat the rain.
