I paint. I create, knit, crochet, bake, read, nurture. I am, finally, my own woman. Took me long enough.
I love creating. When I paint, it’s abstract, fast, a little crazy, a lot of texture. I admire those who take weeks or months to create a single painting. This shows thought. Detail. Skill. I tend to start and finish a painting in mere minutes. So, none of those things apply to mine. Often I use whatever’s at hand during my painting. Like forks.
I knit and crochet because I love yarn. Truth. And whatever my current project at hand is, seeing it play out from the needles or hook fills me right up.
I bake for therapy. Cookies. Bread. Candy. Cakes. Trifles. Odd things. Pies. Stuff with chocolate (which is never wrong). I’ve needed this therapy a lot over the past few years. And, ever since the beginning of that time, my former co-workers had a love-hate relationship with me. I baked, they ate. Hence the love (of my baking) and the hate (that I brought it and they liked it…). Oh, well.
My maternal grandmother could knit a sweater, sleeves and all, in one sitting, without a pattern and without even looking at her hands. And her paintings? Her needlepoint? Talk about a gifted woman. She was magical. And strong. And inspiring. She is no longer with us in Earthly presence. I miss her every single day. Every time I paint, knit or crochet something, Mor Mor is right there, and you bet I’m listening to what she has to say!
Welcome. And thank you for stopping by.
(Small print: All images posted here, unless otherwise noted, are mine and are not to be shared or used without my express written permission.)