Images have been in my mind since the day I put Zappa down, blues, whites, grays, centrally located on the paper. I couldn’t wait to get into the studio. Yesterday I took Billy and the babies for a walk early so I could go straight to the studio when Ramona arrived. I took my water and fish, ate an early lunch so I could keep going all day without coming upstairs. I took down my Lenox 100, an economical paper for painting and printmaking. I tore it into several smaller pieces. I wet the paper. Start with ink and watercolor. I feel completely present, it’s quiet, mind relaxed. I channel my mom.  I touch the paintbrush on the paper, the color spreads like a spill on the floor. “Mom, this is for you.” I begin adding collage, more paint, I’m thinking of delicateness. Softness like the babies cuddles. Softness which is my body. Transparency of life when you encounter death. A path to explore, more stains to be made. Memories to uncover. Coffee to drink. Cheerios to pick up off the floor. Thursday morning, back in the kitchen. Babies screeching. From making to cleaning. Drinking whole pot of coffee today. No babysitter today. No studio today. It’s play day. A day to inspire Jack and Fiona, to show them something new and wonderful, a petting zoo a duck pond.  My mom said I didn’t have the discipline to work in the studio for hours when I told her I wanted to be an artist. She said I could never spend that much time alone. But I crave that time, those hours alone in my studio working. My mom was impressed when she saw me becoming that artist, when she saw my dedication. I wish she could see my paintings now. I wish I could see her paintings now. She was a wonderful artist.