9" X 12"
We are less than two days away from the show and my evil twin is here cursing and whining and growling as we prepare. This behavior will take place right up until the first guest arrives, when she (the evil one, not the guest) will magically melt away, and the sweet and pleasant me once again takes control. Because then, it’s all gravy, baby. I drink champagne, visit with long lost friends, and get to know new ones. We have fun and if I’m lucky, a few people buy my paintings.
In the meantime, in my never-ending search to overdo it and tendency to freak out about wanting everything to be perfect, I drive myself and everyone around me (Clint) a little crazy. In the end, it all turns out fine (I just keep telling myself that).
This week I had only a nanosecond of art time. Remember the Domeland Wilderness? This is one of the monoprints I did when I first returned, filled with memory and spirit of the burnt, silvery, and twisted Diva trees that watch over the Domeland.
The color was inspired by the heart-tickling sunset we witnessed the second night we were there. That day, as we hiked down from Church Dome, in the distance, bruised clouds dumped rain in a ring around us.
When we returned to camp and started dinner, the sun disappeared and we had a spattering of rain—nothing more. As the sun dropped, peeking between the cloud layer and the horizon, the world filled with orange and violet light. Occasional flickers of lightning backlit the trees.
We rushed out to the open meadow to watch the show. Then, the clouds shifted and a lavender rain shower veiled the sun, which still cast its brilliant color further west where the clouds had cleared. We watched the light and color show until dark and tramped back to camp to sit by the fire—until the moon rose (that’s another story).
It had to be one of my top ten best ever sunsets.