Facing the studio after not. Partial paintings intrigue. Sort of.  What shall they be? No clue. No ideas. Blocked.

Facing dinner in the morning. ( I hate making dinner at dinnertime. ) Pork loin thawed—pulled pork? Green chilies, tortillas and Mexican cheese?  Black, beans-Cuban? No.  No mushrooms either.  Ah, frozen fruit for a berry glaze—hmm. Cut loin into chops, brown.

A tired painting becomes the recipient of leftover paints from discarded, wet palettes.  Yours, mine, doesn’t matter.  Smash. Squeeze, d-r-a-a-g-g.  Attempting some good bones.  Oooo, what does this new tool do?  Striations—could it be rock face?  I don’t know yet!!

An onion sautéed in butter can go any direction and is always delicious.  So far, browned pork loin chops and sautéed onions.  Tomato sauce? Balsamic reduction glaze? Wine? Raisins and Couscous? Hmmm, this cauliflower needs cooked. Blanch it add to onions. Slivered almonds, perhaps?

No ideas?—glaze it!  Glazing unifies the surface and the color and depth of the glaze sets a mood.  It can drown out the mud.  This red ink is so seductive.  Looks pink–darn! Not exactly what I was going for.  Yellow will give me orange, warmth-of-the-sun-colors.  Do I see tree trunks or sky?  How to create balance?  Is the delicious surface enough?  No. That damn horizon line–why am I married to it!?  Is that ok? Is it boring?  Or does it amalgamate?

A little white wine left in a bottle and some pesto—a Christmas gift, better use it. A direction emerges. Pork loin chops rubbed with garlic, browned; sautéed onions and cauliflower in brown butter. Deglaze with white wine. No chilies, no raisins no fruit, but aromatic pesto …and maybe balsamic still.   Add great white northerns for health, or arugula ravioli (Otis bought, when?) for taste, or both?  Stir fry the broccolini with fresh garlic. Forget the beans.

Dinner sits in a pot in the fridge waiting for the studio time to leave me exhausted.

All that orange needs some blue, its compliment—or does it?   I like the moody sky.  Storm brewing always gets me.  When I was very little lightening divided a tree in half in our front yard.  My dad told me that thunder was two clouds bumping into each other.  I liked/like both notions.   I wasn’t scared, just curious.

Just curious. A hundred answers to “what if?” No one is right, only different, leading to different outcomes.  Being an artist allows for exploration without much risk. (Making dinner is riskier.) It’s only paper.  Or canvas that can be painted over and over. There’s room for uncertainty in the practice.  Being in that state of ambiguity can be uncomfortable, but it’s good exercise.  Staying curious keeps us engaged– asking questions and trying on many answers is one of the perks of the process.  It allows you to let go of the need to “get it right” and just ask “what if?”