Bless me, Father.

28 new paintings and counting. I can't quite figure out if that's one finished piece per day or what. Math was never ever my strong suit. However, I feel like I've made a big dent in my goal of 50 new and glorious images for Folk Fest. The best part is that I'm not in any way tired of painting. In fact, it's all I want to do.

I feel like Hansel and Gretel - well, more like Gretel - following the path of bread crumbs to a special place. One painting leads to another, to a series, to a new idea or technique. My own personal workshop. The paintings and process are the teacher.

I still hate the part where I have to measure/inventory/price/photograph each piece. Time consuming,boring and necessary. Painting all day feels luxuriously self indulgent. Fortunately, I get to sell the paintings which eliminates the self indulgence guilt. This is guilt that comes from a '50s Catholic childhood where anything that felt good required confession and penance.

"Bless me, Father, for I have painted..."