Painting. Why do we paint? What are we painting for? Who are we painting for? What are we trying to communicate in our paintings, if anything? How has Facebook changed our lives as painters, with a 24-hour audience? How has being painters altered our lives? How does it alter our day to day activities? How we look at and respond to the world? Do we have a collective voice? Are we bonded as painters? Have we become one?

Naptime. Friday. Paintings worked on, getting closer to where I want to go. The layering, the foggy, dusty eyes. Texture creating memory, on the canvas becoming a rivers edge, always changing, eroding and coming back again. On paper, in my notebooks a moment. A flash of time, a scrap of paper with paint drops from several painting sessions, a little mini journal on my studio floor. A tiny scrap, taking on a life of its own.  Walked on, stomped on, drawn on, glued on. “Notebook project” taking on a larger life. Prototype made, Rives BFK, four sheets, painted on separately, folded and sewn together, is sculptural, physical. Trying to connect with the canvas in the same way. Getting closer. Not easy. Skin dry, paint spots on it, neck tired, body tired. Still have to be mom. Babies waking up soon. Need to get energy. Had crazy week. Realized I am crazy. Need to take break, need to get head clear. Dentist said I have grinded my teeth down, bad. Need to start meditating again. I lied last week when I say I don’t have moments when I say I need to do this or that, I need to change. I do still say that, feel that. Or should I accept my grinding teeth? Paint every chance I get. Not take a break? Forget to re-order my checks. Forget everything but the most essential? I need to go now. Sit outside in the sunshine before the babies wake up from their naps.