SNOW DAY, 6" x 8", oils
The tiniest spot of white oil paint on the upholstered seat of my bar stool cut Snow Day short and prompted me to pack the oils up and move them to the studio where they belong. A bit of mineral spirits restored the stool, but there would be no more flirting with disaster.
Standing in the middle of my space with the Jackson Pollock floor, I wondered what I was going to do with my new medium? Every shelf was filled with acrylic gear and stacks of warm up watercolor paintings. There was no room on the long paint table either. A real over-haul was needed, but who wanted to over-haul when the clump of trees outside my window still needed a dab or two? Not me. Not today. Run away, I thought. And I did.
After polishing off the barbecued potato chips we shouldn't have bought on Sunday, I set up next to my sink. It's not a good spot, but it is a spot where a spot of oil paint can't be spotted by a housemate who doesn't give a damn if the paint is flying and landing where it should, but does make a fuss if it's landing where it shouldn't. Now everybody is happy--sort of. The bar was a great little painting spot.