Monday morning. Rain on the windows. Coffee on the table. Paint brush in hand and I’m still in my pajamas. It’s all good, except maybe the possibility of (more) paint on the clothes.
I wake up prone to jump into whatever project my brain has been ruminating on all night. Many times that pondering has kept me awake most of the night. I’ve been known to get up in the wee hours and hit the sketch book just to transfer the images from the head to paper. Often this does the trick and I can finally sleep.
But come morning there is that scheming little voice that says, “I’ll just take a peek” and then, “I’ll just pick the right brush,” or “gather the right colors,” and it leads me down the path of no breakfast (and sometimes lunch), a grumble in my belly, and inevitably, paint on the PJs.
swansroost 