The whole time I was painting, I was working out little stories for the people I created. I suppose it's another form of writing, even if it remains only as images.
Thing is, I did say I would spend part of the week writing, and part painting, but that's not how it worked out. I don't seem to have much control in this area, although I did try.
I have another painting in the preparation stage, and I will try to get back to the novel, really I will. It's just so much fun watching my pictures emerge on the canvas.
And writing, particularly in the revision stage, can be downright frustrating.
In closing -- nothing to do with art or literature -- a very mischievous cockatoo cruelly destroyed a plant I was nurturing in a pot in my garden. My "Silvery Moon" Convulvulus had survived our drought and the cold winter, and promised to bloom soon. It is, after all, nearly spring here. But when I took my coffee outside just now, I saw the remains of the plant scattered around the pot. All that's left in the soil is a stump.
I've put most of the stems in water and the twiggier bits in a small pot of soil -- perhaps they will root. As this sort of thing has happened before, I'm not too shocked, but it is a shame that for the first time in ages we are about to have a good solid rain spell. The convulvulus would have loved that.
Oh, if any of you can recommend a plant that these naughty birds would never touch, please let me know. I was thinking of chilli peppers. Probably too harsh. I used to enjoy cockies in my garden but I think they've outstayed their welcome.
Until next time.
