The Short Version Of How My Dreams Are Coming True
Once upon a time
Painting in her dreams
True stories
Waiting to be seen
I have always painted. For many years, only in my dreams. Those years of dream painting were not wasted, I was working colors and compositions and ideas. I was preparing for some day. “Someday” arrived when my mother-in-law found a one day watercolor class and offered to babysit. I found my heart.
Tiny fingerprints added texture. Ruth sat in my lap and I painted. Forrest rocked in the wind-up swing and I painted. Josiah snuggled in the Guatemalan sling and I painted. Roy nursed in a big pink recliner while I drew and studied composition. Peter slept on my shoulder and I painted. Jubilee, our bonus baby, was easy as her older siblings vied for their turn to hold her and I painted. I raised my children. I educated my children. I educated myself. I lived a full life. And I painted.
I believed the fable of the turtle and the hare and I, the Turtle, painted. Slow and steady would win the race. I built a body of work and then another and another. Slow and prolific wins the race. I painted Texas. I painted loved ones. I painted my orchids. I painted my faith. I painted my prayers. As I painted the paintings transformed from representational images of things to emotional representations of experience.
Today, I paint hope.