Sunrise on the Ridge Behind My Studio
The last couple of Blogs have been about the final sunsets for a couple of friends but as we all know; life goes on. So here I sit in my studio while my fingers do a slow dance over the keyboard; the mop of hair, the colour of snow on my head telling me I'm well into the sunset of my years; aint no longer a young Bandito riding off into the sunset on a black stud named Diablo; I am the sunset.
The last week has been very cold; going to be experiencing a heat wave today; I do believe the temperature is about to climb to O degrees Celsius. Not the sort of weather I'd be steppin' out doors wearin' nothing but my Fruit of the Loom undies but at least it should get rid of the frost on the inside of the windows. The fire is crackling in the wood stove, while a slight breeze is blowing outside; just starting to warm up the studio. My hands and feet are still feeling the cold but at least I've been able to take off my hat and coat.
Garage Sign for Clayton Farrell
Although my ambition has dropped like the temperature, I've still managed to be a touch creative; wrote a short story (non-fiction) and lettered a sign for a friend who lives just the other side on the top of Green Mountain. Clayton is planning to put it on his garage once the weather warms up. His garage is white and black and although it would have been easier to just punch out a generic white sign with computerized black letters, I still like to retain some of my dinosaur values; picked up the brushes, washed out the oil with paint thinner, dipped them into the enamel IShot paint, then stepped back and watched the magic begin to flow. There's something relaxing about using a lettering brush, watching the paint flow across a board, a window, a piece of metal or plastic; my eyes still dance with excitement as I watch the letters form with shadows and inlays; using colours that I often mix together rather than using them raw out of the cans.
Besides the short story and the sign, I finally finished the little storage room that's situated directly below where I'm sitting at the computer in the upstairs loft. Hopefully, if I can just manage to tidy up a bit and bring over the remainder of my paints and other art supplies, my creative juices will begin to flow like the melting snow as soon as spring arrives. I have all these lofty ideas for creating some paintings, sculptures and writing another story (which is already in the process). Plus, I want to self publish about 30 short stories I've written and perhaps turn them into E-books and audio books; even have one on the go at the moment. This all sounds very ambitious for an old man that is tromping around on his ambitions with a pair of gumboots caked in chicken crap; which reminds me; as soon as the coop thaws, I'll have to clean it out.
Being somewhat of a creative person with very little incentive to do anything; it's not like I sell a lot of paintings, have only one book (Arctic Odyssey) published, I find there's just some weird thing that continually shuffles around inside my head until I finally get tired of the commotion and say, "Alright; alright already. I'll pick up a brush, start painting and I'll start typing on the keyboard; gimme a break!"
Only then do I seem to get any satisfaction; the weird little guy stops shuffling about and muttering things like, "Here's an idea for a series of paintings. How about this for a story, you could even illustrate the book? Come on you old fart; get with it; you aint dead yet."
I think it's time for me to end this Blog before I really begin to ramble - us old men really like to chat it up, especially about the good old days - not sure what was so good about them, except that I wasn't old then. Besides the weirdo in my head is beginning to get on my nerves - ah, it's lunch time, time to head into the house fix me a wee bite and knock back a cold beer - cheers, eh!
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