I bike 15 minutes uphill to my Mount Auburn Cemetery, my favorite painting location, so some days I only have half an hour left to paint. It’s crazy, it’s unsustainable, and it’s impractical. I’m working as a programmer halftime right now, soon to be fulltime, I’m translating on the side, I’m spending more time with friends than I have in years, I just joined a gym, and still, whenever the sun is out, I steal an hour or two for painting. So whenever the sun goes out, I go out too, paintbrush in hand. That magnetic pull of beauty – it’s a guide, even if I don’t always know where it’s taking me. A lot is different now that she’s older: she’s been having trouble sleeping, the minor crises of daily life overwhelm her so much these days that she hardly has the time to go out walking, but still: it’s hard not to hit the curb when she spots a magnificent magnolia or a yard with a daffodil field. In the spring, she tells me, she drives like a drunkard. Just a moment ago, I was talking to an elderly friend. I’m going to write letters instead, so that I might take you along for at least a bit of the ride before it’s all over.
I have about a dozen blog post ideas to go with the project, but it’s the middle of April already and I still haven’t written anything. I’ve been painting outside every sunny day in April. it’s spring(all our night becomes day)o,it’s spring! When more than was lost has been found has been foundĪnd having is giving and giving is living-īut keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
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