This morning after running 5 miles with Tracy, we drank coffee and talked about painting together, but we couldn't quite feel the energy or the spirit. She admitted to wanting to use pastels, and I couldn't hide the grin on my face as I led her upstairs to my "studio" where I opened Janet's old pastel box with three layers of gloriously soft, workable pastel sticks. We had both chosen boards from the basement, and we grabbed colors (as it turned out many of the SAME colors) and began smudging the colors onto the surfaces. We sang, we wiggled, we moved our heads hear and there, checking out the effects of our maneuvers, and finally we decided to stop and evaluate. It was the moment of critique. Interestingly, I loved HER work instead of mine, but I DO think we bring wonderful things to the endeavor. After oohing and aching about each other's and our own work, we decided to leave them until next week when we will look at them again and take it from there. What makes me deeply sad is that these two pieces will probably change and move into something entirely different, never to be seen again, so I thought I would at the very least put them here where I know I can come to see them whenever I am feeling nostalgic. Who knows? Maybe they will take an organic course to a level or artistry that neither of us anticipated, but I always mush it up and mash my paintings into mud and have to try to resuscitate them but can't.
So, here's waiting until next week, but here, too, is the palpable joy of prodding, poking and pushing around paint for awhile with a friend. That alone is so delicious that I could leap for glee.
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