“You forgot to be an artist” was uttered to me today by my mom. I affectionately refer to her as MoMA (like the Museum of Modern Art). She said this in reference to the painting I did for her of a Blue Heron.

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And it resonated deep into my core. So deep that I decided to change that.

Immediately.

Today, I took a small hike with my paintings. Recent and of a few years past. I hung them in trees, leaned them against nature. As the freezing wind blew through my bones, I felt alive as artist again.

These artworks are not “epic” (well, a few are to me). However, this symbolism of walking with art, hanging art in nature (that I love) opened a fire in my soul. As I write the term “not epic” I feel a catch in the heavens. Who am I to say whether the work, where I poured out time, planning and care (also the depths of my soul) are not epic. #shameonme (Promptly I forgave myself, so that I could embrace the realization that art has been buried in my soul and it needs to be created).

Tonight, I attended an art show at a local gallery. It was a Pop Up show, no entry fee, no winners, it was arranged this week. It was about current politics (of which I am mostly avoiding) and the director of the gallery is a mother of students that I teach art to on a weekly basis. It felt great. Chad came, too. He thanked me for the trip, as we left. I also said to him, “it feels so good to get culture into your soul, even if a little bit.

artinjapaneseAs for my mom, she knows me so well, it almost frightens me sometimes. I did forget to be an artist. Tonight, my heart is grateful to her, the heavens and the sketch I drew for my next painting.

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