I’ve already written about how my gorgeous, generous friends gave me oil painting classes for my birthday here and here. I figured I’d better report on how things are going.

I LOVE IT.

This was my first setup, in a too-dark shot taken by my cell phone, which doesn’t capture even half the necessary composition, beauty, perspective, color, or light that made up these sunflowers.

This is my finished painting (and a detail is at the very top). See how I avoided those wicked stripes? Too hard!

In class, my makeshift palette box (glass from my fridge shelf that broke in a pizza box) stands near my borrowed easel. I try really hard not to knock stuff onto the floor. I have a new brush cleaning jar with a fancy coil thingy that’s supposed to keep my brushes in good shape. I used some old cadmium yellow light paint that my Nana had; I had to squeeze hard to get it out of the tube, then it squirted everywhere. So far, there’s little grace involved. Still, painting is challenging and thought-provoking in the most delicious way.

Here is my second painting in progress; the photo was taken at the end of the third class. I had too much solvent on my canvas by the middle of this class, so my paint wouldn’t stick properly, especially on the vase. I was still working out my background color. During the second session working on this painting (fourth class), that wasn’t the case and I was able to finish it.

This is what the studio looks like. There’s my second (silk flower) setup in the lower middle.

My teacher and my classmates are very supportive and said kind things. I’m very happy with this painting, all things considered! Can’t wait to do more. I think my brain is growing and my eyes are seeing more.

Yep. Tonight I begin. I was delayed slightly in this, my most recent, foray into madness. But that was a temporary setback, a mere postponement. Tonight I step into my first oil painting class with a humble, fearful heart. Nevertheless I step because my friends believe in me—so much so, they’ve funded my class fee as a birthday gift.

Yesterday evening I went to the art store and bought $200 worth of oil paints and canvas, much of which was on clearance.

OMG. That’s a lot of money for a lark, a whim, a hobby!

Yep. The voices in my head are really loud about all this, and mostly they are unkind. The harpies are out in full flight, screeching about how ridiculous is it to start this. Who am I to think I might paint? They’re dive-bombing me with doubt and scornful comments. It’s too expensive. It’s impractical. I don’t have enough time to fold all the laundry or work to earn my living, so what in the world do I think I’m doing taking a painting class?

And yet, I’m going. I’m going to try this because I’ve always, always wanted to. And because if a girl cannot find a way to fulfill a dream once in a while, what’s the point?

Both art and living share this: they are a messy, dangerous process. Might as well get messy.

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.

A darling old friend of mine asked me to make some Easter eggs and bunnies for her to give as gifts for Easter. The 2.5-inch egg bases are a paper mache with a cutout and are from the craft store. The needle-felted bunnies I made from scratch fit nicely inside, with a bit of colorful eyelash yarn that looks rather like Easter basket grass. Making these has been an exciting project and super fun, but also a little bit nerve-wracking. I mean, what makes me think I can paint well enough for someone else? (Hear that? Those are the Weasles of Doubt and Fear talking.) The above design is cherry trees in blossom.

Here is a kind of wildflower design, with daisies and California poppies.

A low-key meadow with butterflies. This one isn’t quite as girly, in my opinion.

Here is one with red roses that wrap all the way around the egg.

A kind of stylized bamboo design, meant for a male recipient. Simple and elegant, I hope.

More butterflies and bearded irises, which are now in bloom.

English country garden in spring, with azalea, Spanish lavender, and white Queen Anne’s lace.

Wisteria vines in bloom.

I also have two others that feature bright tulips and delphinium flowers. There are ten egg and bunny pairs in all. I am shipping them out to my friend today. I hope she likes them!

This story is really not about me, but I’m going to tell my part in it because it gave me great joy.

Lucas’s class is performing the Russian story of the Firebird in Eurhythmy this week. The performance is on Thursday and they’ve worked quite hard on it. I cannot wait to see this performance and I know already it’s going to make me cry. Lucas is excited about it, too.

A whole crew of volunteers was recruited to sew fancy dresses for the girls to wear. I was asked to do this part: paint the Firebird’s fabric wings.

With paints.

I love paints.

I love to paint.

Here’s my inspiration and reference material: The Firebird by Demi.

So this is how I spent part of my Sunday afternoon, outside in my unseasonably warm backyard, with the fabric clipped to my fence, while the wind rushed about blowing leaves into my way.

This is how I left it last night, with the back almost finished (not all the tail feathers were done). Today I painted the front because when the Firebird spreads her wings, you’ll see the underside. I’ve also spent some time adding details, like more gold shimmer.

I don’t have a daylight photo of the wings finished at this point. I’ll try to snap one in the morning before I send this off to school. I fervently hope that this garment will work. The paint has made the fabric pretty stiff, so I’m hoping the Eurhythmy teacher doesn’t expect lots of flowing, draping softness!

Doing this was such fun! I wish I could paint more often!

(My first wet-on-wet watercolor painting in … many years!)

It’s Friday and our son’s school is celebrating Michaelmas today with a festival and dragon play. Lucas’s third-grade class will be the village children and will do a country dance. Tonight our family will have a modest celebratory meal with dragon bread.

This festival is speaking to me more each year. We all face our own demons every day. We strive to subdue or conquer them so we may shine our inner light into our own lives and the lives of those we love. And the world is a brighter place for it.

Saint Michael’s Harvest Song

In autumn Saint Michael with sword and with shield
Passes over meadow and orchard and field.
He’s on the path to battle ‘gainst darkness and strife.
He is the heavenly warrior, protector of life.

The harvest let us gather with Michael’s aid;
The light he sheddeth fails not, nor does it fade.
And when the corn is cut and meadows are bare
We’ll don Saint Michael’s armor and onward will fare.

We are Saint Michael’s warriors with strong heart and mind,
We forge our way through darkness Saint Michael to find.
And there he stands in glory; Saint Michael we pray,
Lead us into battle and show us thy way.

—Anonymous

(painting by Lucas, second grade)

Look to this day,

For it is life,

The very life of life.

In its brief course lie all

The realities and verities of existence,

The bliss of growth,

The splendor of action,

The glory of power—

For yesterday is but a dream,

And tomorrow is only a vision,

But today, well lived,

Makes every yesterday a dream of happiness

And every tomorrow a vision of hope.

—Sanskrit proverb

We whitewashed the chicken coop two weeks ago. It’s now ready for decoration and colors. That is the part I’m excited about—making the coop kind of like a gingerbread-house—but I’m facing a lack of free time this month. Work projects are keeping me hopping! (Yay!)

Anyway, the boys were great sports about painting and the four of us got this job done in about an hour and a half. Asher was extremely enthusiastic … and drippy. Lucas was a competent, steady worker. Daddy was patient the whole time, even when the hinges were accidentally painted white.

We were all fairly well splattered when we were done.

This is how it looks now. The girls don’t seem to mind that their coop isn’t completely decorated yet. They’re more concerned with trying to peck open our vermiculture bin. Those beaks did a lot of damage to our styrofoam worm farm! Our worms are now banished to the garage, where the hens can’t get at them.