The world looks different to me these days. More "painterly." Sharper, yet still full of mystery. Everything seems more animated, more alive, bursting with potential even as we sink into winter.
The trees drop their leaves to the secrets they hid throughout the summer...mockingbird nests and praying mantis pods and tender new growth...evidence of their ongoing quest to reach for the skies.
The more time I spend sketching and painting, the more "painterly" the world looks to me.
The more time I spend writing, the more mysterious and interesting the world becomes.
When I started blogging every day, I was afraid I would just run out of things to write about, run out of things to say. I thought the well would dry up eventually. That the muse would go to Tahiti.
Ditto with daily sketching. My daily sunrise sketch would start to bore me. I would run out of things to draw. I'd realize my life isn't sketch-worthy and the whole project would collapse.
(From there it's a short drop to living on the street and eating generic cat food out of the can. This is how far down the rabbit hole my fears will take me if I let them. But that's another story.)
But none of this has happened.
In fact, what’s happened is that the more I write, the more I seem to have to write about. And the more I sketch, the more things I see that need my attention. The sunrise is endlessly fascinating to the point where some days I start painting even before I’ve had my coffee.
Creativity feeds on itself and, like the universe, it is expanding.
And even my cat gets the good food. It's still from a can, but she doesn't seem to mind.