When I moved to the PNW, I picked up a pencil and started to capture my world on paper. I had tried before, but I never possessed the patience or satisfaction to continue making art. COVID changed things. I suddenly had time to stare at my unused art supplies and contemplate a project or two. So I started, and I struggled. I filled many, many art journals with the most horrible dreck and absurdist projects. I took a few online classes and tried again. I mailed odd bits to friends to get some reaction. Rinse and repeat.

Finally, I mustered the gumption to give a few watercolors to my ever-patient BF (and sometimes model), who hung them in his office at work.  The separation with the art stung a little bit, the imposture syndrome a bit more, but I sat with it. And then I created some more and thought maybe I could see improvement. Okay, fine.

I showed some work to an artistic friend, who said a total stranger liked them a lot when she shared them. A stranger! Why was that validating? I don’t know, but it was. I found a little more gumption and offered a few to hang in my town’s rotating art display. These were accepted–surprising, shocking. And here it is, evidence that I actually do paint:

For those that are curious, this old Ford is at a farm stand along the Hood Canal. I don’t know why it ended up as the feature of two pieces, but there ya go. The muse knows no bounds. These works are a combo of pen, ink, and various watercolors.

You’ll be able to see them hanging in Shelton, Washington sometime after the first of the year? I can’t remember. I’ll post when I find the details.

Does anyone else struggle to put themselves out there? Just me?