Since I haven’t been writing lately, I’ve been painting instead. Including three entries in a neat little book we picked up at the DMA, 104 Things to Paint. Its pages are all divvied up with neat little subjects like falling from the sky, french fries and ketchup, and arrows.
She sat in the straight-backed chair, curled around her busywork like a cat rabbit-kicking a toy. A steady skrit-skrit-skrit came from beneath her fingernails as they picked at the dried acrylic paint in the dozen paintwells of her palette. Every now and then she pulled her hand away with a ragged string of paint, a gleam of success in her eyes and a slight smile on her naked face. She knew the palette would come clean with little effort if she were to wash it with clean water while the paint was still wet, but that didn’t offer the same sense of fulfillment that picking did.
Our room had a lot of mirrors.
Yesterday we got up and dressed and ate kolaches from downstairs before heading to the museum. We spent almost four hours there. I had no idea that The Two Fridas was so big, nearly six feet by six feet.
On the way home we stopped for lunch at Golden Chick because we’d never heard of it, and they turned out to have amazing yeast rolls, so we brought two dozen home with us. It was a good decision; they went over well at dinner.
Tomorrow: watercolor painting in the park, Hatch Show Print, and downtown.
Btdubs, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were awesome last night.
Tomorrow we leave!
Today we attend a ninetieth birthday party.