Water

The only painting I have done in the last week is some house painting. Well to be specific, the trim on the porches of the house and the studio. It’s a maintenance thing really, but also oddly satisfying. Most of it has to be done on a ladder 10-12 feet in the air. Consequently, it’s important to be aware of where one is at all times. So, I try to paint consciously.

But I do stop occasionally to take in the view from that height. At twelve feet off the ground, my familiar world looks somewhat different. Horizons expand. Neighbors houses, normally obscured by vegetation and whatnot, seem closer.

Looking at your world from a slightly different angle is probably a good thing and at times necessary. Seeing a different point of view, seeing all sides, seems to be sorely missing these days. Solutions to most problems are probably inherent in the problems themselves. Maybe the real problem is the point of view.

The color I am using for the trim is a blue called English Channel. The irony, of using a paint color named after a large body of water in this seemingly never ending drought, is not lost on me. But I take it as a sign of hope. And maybe a prayer. It also matches our desert skies. And hey, the monsoon season is only a month away. And there will be water.

🖤

Clicks

On a side note, the desert is clicking. No, it seems to be the trees. The trees are clicking. Of course, a closer look shows there are hundreds of cicada on every juniper and piñon tree. A fast flip of their wings makes the sound—the click. In the heat of the day, they slip into the traditional hum of the cicada, but at the start and end of the day they click. It seems anticipatory. As if they are marking time. As if they are waiting for something to change.

Sometimes, I believe the world merely exists on hope and a strong belief in change. And so, the day heats and the click becomes a hum. Just listen. Maybe it's the sound of hope, or maybe it's the sound of change.

🖤