Here's a little page from my art journal. It is a little primitive, but that's kind of what I was going for. Many years ago, I had the opportunity to take some watercolor lessons from Ruth Sauerbreit when I lived in Pocatello. Ruth is an amazing artist and I loved learning from her. After my kids came along, I let life take over and my paints and brushes ended up dusty in the basement. Little by little, while working with my art journal, they have found their way into the light, and I have missed them! It's like finding old friends.
I tend to paint everything "tight" instead of just letting things go and going with the flow. Once Ruth told me (jokingly, I think) that I needed a few drinks to loosen me up. Which is tricky considering I don't drink. I just needed to care less about what I was painting. That's what I am trying to accomplish with my art journal. I'm learning to not care what it looks like, as long as I have a good time making it. All without the use of alcohol. I just keep reminding myself that if it really is attrocious, I can just cover it with gesso, and Mod Podge and make it all go away.
Anyway...the story behind this page is: I have been struggling this winter and when I saw the new primroses at the store, I was so excited. Primroses mean that spring really is on the way! After it snowed a few weeks ago, I decided I couldn't wait for spring and when the primroses went on sale, buy 2 get 1 free, Alexis and I picked out 3 for the kitchen windowsill. I love those things. They are absolutely beautiful. Then my son brought home a cup of dirt from Primary on Sunday with what I can only assume are seeds buried in it. Jake wasn't really full of much information on the specifics but he was really excited so we put the cup next to the primroses for some sun. As I was looking at my beautiful primroses next to Jake's cup of dirt, I was reminded that the primroses once started out as a cup of dirt too. With a little hope and care, who knows what can become of a little cup of dirt. That's what I am reminded of every time I look at my kitchen windowsill.