I sit in my studio, windows open while I work in wax. With them open, I can almost pretend to be outside as I create. The air is dripping with the scent of honeysuckle which signals me that summer is quickly approaching. However, the coolness of the breeze and the rustle of the leaves invite spring to stay a little longer. It is dusk and the light is fading quickly. I work with colors and pigment while the ceiling fan provides ventilation from wax fumes. It is a quiet evening after the very loud last day of school. I do not even turn on the music tonight…solitude and silence are my companions. I soak them up like a sponge.
I have been attempting to work through an artist’s block as of late. I find it the same level of frustration as writer’s block, but when the two combine it is nearly unbearable. I feel as if I will explode if I do not express myself in some way…yet nothing expresses me…nothing at all. Not wax. Not paint. Not words. Nothing. I sit and stare at paper or canvas, I dabble, I fiddle, I attempt. I am dissatisfied. I yearn to find the flow once again, to see and to encapsulate.
My mind wanders. I let it. It likes the colors, and the wax and the blending. I listen to the whippoorwill just outside the window, then another further in the distance. They call to one another. I wonder if other countries have whippoorwills, and honeysuckle. I think about where Hannah will be and I just wonder. Nothing profound. Just working, and wondering. I let my thoughts fragment. That is allowed now that it is summer. I realize I now have a senior in high school and one in college as well. Two graduations coming. The blue and the green combine. The warmth from the heat gun forces the collaboration. I think about an empty house, but push those thoughts away with my paint brush. I feel change bearing down upon me, but it is not time…yet. I do not borrow the future, not tonight anyway. Tonight I add color, and texture, and life to a board. What was plain is no longer. What has been is gone. For once in a long while I like my work. I turn the wax off, put the brushes away. I cut the light.
I see the moon filtering into my window reminding me I am only a rock that reflects his light. No purpose other than that…to reflect.

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