On the east porch. Coffee. That poignant sound of dry leaves. August is a strange month. It feels at once like a big bowl of syrup--hot, sticky, slow moving. But listen closely and fall is coming. The big maple where the hummingbirds live--is yellow already. The morning song birds have fled.
I've just completed a series of paintings for a show in November. Preparing them all now--painting the backs and sides, signing and labeling, and my least favorite--adding wires.
Somehow August and this group of paintings are aligning. I'm ready for change in the studio. Bring in the new seasons. Let the painting panel be blank and open to the next.