The Paint Dance

Guess whose gym shoes. Guess I wasn't wasting my time drawing gym shoes a few weeks back. Guess you can't draw them enough, but can you paint them? That's still to be seen.

But I didn't paint gym shoes yesterday, I was wearing them while I had a great painting session with Honey. Dancing to BB King's "Ain't Nobody Home" and a shuffle of rock tunes, I got him standing firmly on his weight with his hip thrown out, both arms the right length and his hands doing more of what his hands had been doing that moment I snapped him in Key Biscayne. It was an exhilarating painting/exercise session.

I love dancing while I paint. It's an absolute high. I can't understand just sitting there and dabbing away all quiet and serious when making art is such an action sport.

Not so with other mediums. There was no dancing while drawing my grandson seriously intent upon putting on his soccer gear just right; I was working in pencil. Pencils don't allow for dancing. They're a tight medium--but paint, paint is for moving in close then swinging back for a look. Twirling over to the paint table to load the brush then twirling back to unload. Twirling over to the sink to pitch the dirty water, twirling back with fresh and then dipping low to mop exuberance off the floor. The paint dance shuts off the side of the brain that thinks pictures ruined and beats the boredom out of exercise. It's a gas.