A friend of mine from highschool tracked me down some years ago through a google…he remembered me as a painter. He told me the story of a painting that I had given him way back then (I still have a tendency to give paintings away). He told me that he never framed it but that in every place he had lived, this was the only picture he displayed.
I remembered the painting because I painted it outdoors…it was the very first time I had ever set my butt down in the great outdoors…bugs biting, wetness seeping through my trousers…hot sun one minute and then an uncomfortable shade the next. The location was a spot called the fishing hole in Magrath, Alberta…a spot where my Grampa would take my boy-cousins and my brothers to fish. I had a palette of oil paints and a wee canvas board and I set to work capturing the old barn that was located across from the water…cattails standing along the edges.
If ever I DO write a book, I’d like to have this image, while more focused, on the cover somewhere. It captures the will of a little artist-chick who wished only ever to make beautiful things. Tonight I’m wanting to be in touch with her very sense of wonder and belief…to stretch out my own heart into hers and hold it gently. Sometimes when there’s no one near, we can be our own best friend. I hadn’t thought of ever putting this image on my blog…but while randomly dumping a zillion old e mails this evening, I found this little treasure. I had a few more tears over the journey…and so I’ll send this little painting created on a summer’s day by a fourteen-year old dreamer, out to the universe.