When I was little I used to think I was an artist. Not even when I was little. Up until I was probably 15. I thought I was pretty good, and no one told me otherwise. I knew I couldn't draw people, but that didn't matter. People are boring. I took private professional art lessons for awhile. I really thought that art (watercolor painting specifically) was something I would do for the rest of my life. I loved it. Then I got to high school and there were so many people in art classes and I couldn't fit them into my schedule. When I saw what everyone was capable of, I stopped considering myself an artist. Occasionally I'd try something, but never very seriously. I didn't want to call myself an artist and then have people laugh at me.
Last night I took some time and picked out a picture. I cleared my desk and taped down my paper. I got out my palette and paints. I set out my paintbrushes and pulled out a pencil. I started some music and got to work. I sketched out the picture then started painting. It was so comforting! Like putting on your favorite pair of pajamas, or cuddling up in your bed after a trip away. I sat and painted and painted and painted. I fnished the picture and it's not perfect, but I enjoyed it. It was the process I enjoyed the most. Now I'm trying to figure out what I want to paint next. I think I'm becoming reacquainted with an old friend. Painting Ginger may be someone who is here to stay. I sure hope so.
This is the picture I painted from. If you want to see the painting you'll have to come visit me.
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