Painting

I love to paint. So far, I paint only wall murals and eggs and the occasional watercolor. But I have a dream …

My loves pooled resources recently to buy me a spot in an oil painting class for my birthday. I mentioned my desire to take this class a few weeks ago and, although I didn’t know I was doing it, in hindsight I realize I was saying out loud what I want—and doing so despite the considerable cost, or the impracticality of it, or all the million and one other reasons not to do it. It’s quite amazing and I am (repeatedly) blessed to find that often when I do that, someone is listening, and ultimately I somehow get what I want. I never dreamed that my darlings would do this for me and was/am totally awestruck by the thoughtfulness of the gift.

Me. Oil painting.

I have wanted to do this since I was 9. No kidding.

This week I popped over to the gallery/art studio and paid for my class. I have six evening sessions (6-9 p.m.) to use over the next four months. I have a materials list in hand, and some cash left over from my patrons to put toward the supplies I’ll need.

The painting teacher is on vacation now but will return at the end of June. So next month, I will be painting. With oils. On canvas. And if it is even half as sublime and satisfying as I’ve always imagined it to be, I will rejoice. Even if I suck.

Thank you.

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  • About Sara

    Thanks for visiting! I’m Sara, editor and writer, wife to Ian, and mother of two precious boys. I am living each day to the fullest and with as much grace, creativity, and patience as I can muster. This is where I write about living, loving, and engaging fully in family life and the world around me. I let my hair down here. I learn new skills here. I strive to be a better human being here. And I tell the truth.

    Our children attend Waldorf school and we are enriching our home and family life with plenty of Waldorf-inspired festivals, crafts, and stories.

    © 2003–2018 Please do not use my photographs or text without my permission.

    “Love doesn’t just sit there like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.” —Ursula K. LeGuinn

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