Tonight I am working on the very final touches of "Ruth". Its bitter sweet. I don't want it to end. This painting has been on my easel each morning,for the past three months, waiting for me to to add a color note here and there. I would rise with my morning coffee in hand, and eagerly set to work. Paintings become like friends to me. I confide in them and often work out life's issues in my head while trying to solve pictorial issues. As I retire for the evening, usually the painting is the last thing I look at as I survey the day's progress.
The painting becomes a confidant when an artist lives alone. There are no lover's approval or advise on what is good or needs fixing. Its just the artist and the work...nothing to influence except for the inspiration that comes from that secret place inside the artist's heart.
Many times in my life, I could measure time and events in the painting that I was working on. With that, looking at the paintings, the joys, victories and defeats, the heartache and the beauty of those times are inside the painting.
How many summers do we have? How many tender caresses will we experience? Does anyone know? How many paintings will I have the honor from God to create and release into the world? In a few days "Ruth" will be out there...on to the next chapter on the easel.