My 52^nd and 53^rd acrylics are, as you can see, both pups. One is a gift, one is for putting up at the cafe and [hopefully] selling. I've already realized that my animal paintings are the closest I get to “crowd-pleasers”. So, when it comes time to make a gift, that's what I fall back on. But I've also already begun to wonder how much these paintings actually qualify as fine art. Like, do they say anything? Do they express anything about me? Maybe they're just an expression of “my love of animals”, and maybe that's enough, I dunno....

On the other hand, I can think of an artist I see on Instagram who only ever paints horses, and she quite cheerfully admits that's all she ever has any intention of painting, because that's what she loves most. And I've never questioned her legitimacy as An Artist®, so why do I need to question my own?

On the third hand, lately I've gotten more of an urge to spend at least some of my easel time working on less accessible pieces — I can feel things in me wanting to get out. I've already resigned myself to those new pieces not being understood or enjoyed, but I still feel like they'll be worth trying anyway.

 a clear sunny day, dry quiet roads, serene music in the car, and some peaceful time with just my thoughts

oh and a car heater that works [incl heated seat, woot!]

My 51^st acrylic is a nocturne of the Christmas fair at Hebden Bridge, which we visited in 2018. I got into how the night suggests rather than displays things, and really got into the depths of the lights on the tree. There's no razzle dazzle in this work, but I feel like maybe there's some honesty about a night I remember fondly.



My tenth gouache is a horned owl in the snow. This was my first time using an angle brush — I only recently picked up a few of those, in both bristle and soft synthetic — and I really enjoyed how it handled. I can see myself using them a lot in future. And, once again, the limited palette I have felt my way into for animal paintings came in handy here.

For a while there, I was not sleeping well. Not enough, and what I got was very spotty and fragmented. Eventually I realized that fretting about the state of the world was keeping my mind whirring and preventing me from settling down. 

Then I saw a post from someone saying that they were cutting the news out of their life for a while, for the sake of their own peace of mind. The gist of their perspective was that they already knew by now what things were awful, so they could take that as read. They didn't really need this awfulness underlined again every day. Knowing the particular details of how the awfulness had shifted somewhat was no help to them. And these were all things that they couldn't do anything about, so more knowledge was not a guide to more action or more solutions. 

Then someone else said that they had set up filters on their social media, for similar reasons. This is not something I had ever tried myself, but I decided to now. So I did, a few days ago. 

Now, posts will appear on my social media, but instead of content I get a message saying this post contains filtered items. So I know the post is there, and it's up to me to decide if I want to see it or not. So far, I have been declining. 

And I can't help but notice that I am consistently sleeping more soundly since I began to filter out some of the awfulness. 

I understand there are those who will object. Who will tell me I have a duty to know what's going on in the world. As in, knowing everything, every detail. [Most of us who grew up in the days before the 24-hour news cycle realize that you can get by without unceasing news updates.] And there are those who will accuse me of flaunting my privilege, because it must be nice to be able to afford to ignore these things. [I don't deny that my life is privileged and blessed in numerous ways, even if I'm not rich.] 

But the people who were cutting out this influence from their online lives were framing it more in terms of self-care. Protecting their health which was suffering because of this psychic onslaught. And that's how I'm choosing to frame this for myself: self-care. Like, I don't accept that I am flaunting my privilege by eating regularly, simply because there are other people who don't. [I do count my blessings, though.] If I have the capability to nurture myself [as opposed to wallow in decadent luxury] then I will do so, as much as I am aware and able. 

Maybe that's just me.

Being stocked up on [most of the] stock-uppable things.

Knowing that, when I'm getting near the end of a container or package of something, there's another full one waiting somewhere. Not needing to worry that I might Run Out® — it's a gentle form of security, but a precious one.

I saw this quote on Mastodon a couple weeks ago that keeps coming back to me:

Art is not a sport. The point is not to be impressive at something difficult. It's expression, it's a way to focus on yourself, it's a way to get feelings out, it's a way to get ideas across. There is no cheating.

blackcurrant jam


I have some with my toast basically every day and never tire of it. I have to get it at the import shop cuz no one makes it domestically, but it's worth it! A little taste of the UK to brighten my day....

 Today I have [just barely] reached my lowest weight in at least thirty years. Knowing how my body works, it will likely bounce back up some tomorrow, so I need to make note of this today and not forget.

Not long after we moved to our new house, we discovered a special tree in our neighbourhood. In September it turned a bright, pure, complete and lovely yellow. I loved seeing it as I drove by.



It got to the point where I looked forward to every fall to go by The Yellow Tree® again.

Last fall, I went by in September and it was gone. It had been so thoroughly removed that the stump was dug up, the hole sodded over, and you would never suspect that there had ever been a tree there.

It makes me feel old when I outlive some of the things I love.

Not sure why I get such a kick out of this story, but I do:

During the Swing Era of the late 30s and 40s, the big bands dominated the top of the charts. They were pop music. Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, Artie Shaw, Harry James, Benny Goodman, Jimmy Dorsey, Count Basie, Duke Ellington... that sound defined an era.

But, by the 50s, that sound mostly died out, the hits stopped coming, and bands that size became too expensive to maintain. The charts became the purview of pop acts like Pat Boone and Doris Day, Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole, Rosemary Clooney and The McGuire Sisters. Plus, in mid-decade, Elvis showed up and started breaking records, turning rock and roll into the hottest fad in music. The swing musicians still appeared occasionally in clubs and on TV, but on the charts they were mostly a spent force. Now and then, one of them would manage to interest a label in putting out a record for them, but nothing much came of it.

And then, in 1957, Jimmy Dorsey released So Rare.

God knows why, but in amongst all the usual 50s suspects, that record spent over half a year on the chart, made it to Number Two [Number One in Canada], and ended up being Billboard's Number Five record out of the Top One Hundred of the year. During those few minutes it would play on the radio, it was suddenly 1942 again. Out of nowhere. The Swing Era had a sudden last blaze of glory, and I think that is so swell.

[It was only today that I learned Jimmy Dorsey died in '57, but he lived long enough to see So Rare become a big hit and to receive a gold record for it. Talk about going out on a high note.]