Now What?

In my quest for better values, I've fallen back in love with charcoal. There's something very definitive about vine charcoal black. I lop off a twig and use the side, top and bottom. It usually ends up as dust in my fingers. Then I slop on some water with my hake brush and voila . . gratification.

Of course the old eraser is a fun tool for "un-painting." So I get to this point and think, "hmmmm, this is a pretty good start." I'll tweak the road, fix some of the funky branches and make the colors sing.

Yeah, right! Mostly I get scared that I'm going to "mess it up." Of course the other voices in my head ask, "Mess up what?" It's just a 9x12 pastelbord. It ain't gonna hang in the Irvine Museum. "Just paint, Dave," my little Jimminy Cricket says.

So then, I'm in the studio looking at this thing for 5 minutes, trying to get up the courage to pick up a pastel stick when Cathy comes in. "Stop looking at it," she admonishes. I think she's going to say something profound and artistic. Instead, she says rather wryly, "stop looking at it. It's like you're looking in the mirror at how handsome you are!"

Uh, oh! Busted . . . . Then she goes for the jugular. "Why don't you paint the cat?" I'm thinking Spotty would look silly covered in pastel, but she means to actually paint "a" cat. Now that's a scary thought. Cathy continues to pummel me against the ropes . . . . mountains, roads, trees, bushes . . . alright . . . move on.

So it's still out there in the garage on the tabletop easel. I can wink at it as I walk by. There's a bunch of freshly-wrapped new pastelbords waiting for a kitty to be drawn in charcoal.

Now What?