Mr. Spouse, my best loved Mr. Spouse, my till-death-do-we-part mate for life, came up to me Saturday morning and innocently asked if I was planning on doing anything in the new studio this weekend.
Me? Plans for the studio? The one I’m moving in to and doing my best to organize? The one I swore I’d be painting in by Monday?
Maw-hahahahahahaha… Oh. Dear. Do I need any more proof the man doesn’t read Arty Life. Do I???
So I said in my very best most loving wife voice, “Why? What do you have in mind?” Because, really, if dreams of kayaks were dancing in his head (as they have been in mine) I would drop everything and follow him to the lake.
Alas, I’m no better at reading his mind then he is at reading my blog. He wanted to pour concrete. Which would block access to the red hobbit door. The magic door into studio land. And since he can only work on the studio during the weekend… shrug…what could I say?
So I wrote instead. You can read the new blog here.
And I decided I want to do some art journaling. Not in a fancy journal with thick, heavy arty paper. No. I wanted to transform a cheap little composition notebook into something wonderful. So in between bouts of writing I gessoed ultra thin cheap notebook paper in the old studio.
I love the way it’s turning out. Nothing to show yet, it’s just, well… white. But it’s white with texture. Like crunchy albino potato chips. A little wavy. I can’t wait to write, draw, paint, collage, DO STUFF in this little book.
Which means there will be photos to share. Stay tuned.
I’ve got the DNA of survivors. Of people too stubborn to go belly up until well into their 90s. Barring unforeseen circumstances, I stand a damn good chance of being just like them. Old.
I’m looking forward to it.
Because I intend to age well. I’m going to be the kick-ass little old lady who paints and sings and dances until the day she drops. Because I can.
And any time I feel stuck and need a reminder how absolutely beautiful growing old can be, I’ll watch this video for inspiration.
Because there’s nothing old about aging with grace.
Now that March is here and the daffodils are up, winter has finally decided to arrive. Snow. High winds. Which means I might be without power and or internet connection for a few days. Just one of the perks of rural living.
Just giving you a heads up.
So if Arty Life suddenly becomes Arty-Where-the-Hell-Is-She, don’t dispair. It only means I’m huddling by the fire, reading books with a flashlight, and, except for the twice daily trudge through the snow to feed the ponies, thoroughly enjoying myself.
