Frustrated Painter

You know, I enjoy getting to do art. It doesn’t matter if it’s visual or literary. It can be airbrush, or scratchboard, or drawing, or any of a myriad of media. At the moment, I’m a frustrated artist. VERY frustrated. I’m still painting the exterior of my house, you see. Because of various spike-filled bushes over-grown around the house, it’s an arduous process. It’s life-consuming—maybe not so much if this is what you do for a living, but I didn’t want to have to do this in the first place.

It’s been about a month since I’ve done anything seriously artistic. Oh, I’ve done a few scattered sketches, even fired up the compressor a couple of time to shoot some paint for fun. And, because of having to factor in other family responsibilities as well as work, I can’t see this ride stopping for at least a few more weeks. By then I’ll either have the parts of the house painted that need to be painted, or it will have turned too warm to get any meaningful work done. So, I’m very hopeful that by early June I’ll be able to get back to making pretty pictures again. I already have several all ready to be worked on: some hummingbirds, a desert rival thingy that should be funny, a Latino dance celebration, at least one portrait, and the famously-delayed birthday present.

June can’t come soon enough for me.