The palette is in the refrigerator. . .

I'm not kidding!  That's where it stays, every night, when I'm working on a commission, as I'm doing now.  I am taller than my refrigerator and the palette takes up the whole bottom shelf. . .obviously not much room in there, and it takes a very stealthy hand to retrieve anything out of my miniature icebox.  You may say I've come down in the world after large side-by-sides with the latest and greatest of dials, filters and drawers galore. . .I'm back to ice trays and stooping over to find anything of note besides oil paint!  But I rarely think of it that way, as it sweetly reminds me of how simple things "used to be." 

Back to the paint. . .it stays beautifully pliable and while I have coffee in the morning (a necessity!) it's removed from its cool enclave and set out for a new day.  Naturally fresh paint is squeezed out every few days, just to keep things on the up and up. As I wash my brushes in the evening, I think about the "male" painters I've met at demos or events who proudly proclaim they never wash their brushes!  May I say I burn with green envy at the mere thought of that?

I've been mute of late. . .silent, wordless, still. As you know, it happens when I'm deep into a piece - in addition, I'm working on a deadline!  Paint has to have time to dry. . .seriously.  My creative juju is beginning to sputter as I get close to the end, and it will have to be tantalized,coaxed and wheedled back to life in order to get on with the next painting.  

The deeply felt rhythm of the natural world and our daily lives is the peanut butter to our jelly.     

Here are the trees behind my house, photographed in November of last year. 

I shall turn back the clock this weekend while the leaves silently drift by my studio windows, and I'll feed the birds, squirrels and chipmunks so they will stay fabulously fat for the winter chill that's soon to come.

"To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts."

- Henry David Thoreau