I am thinking about the work still ahead to bring my studio back to a work ready state. There’s vacuuming to do, clutter to remove and sort through, and basic housekeeping. I’ll be able to move the cabinets that are both flat storage of small canvases and also work surfaces back into the studio after those other details are handled. There are art supplies in storage that can come home. I thoughtfully examine a long glittery fingernail while wondering how much storage may have degraded some paint over time? It’s back to shorter nails, too; easier to hold a brush with a steady hand, or quickly touch something up with the edge of a fingertip. I know what matters most to me.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

It was just the start of sunrise when I reached the trailhead this morning. Chilly. A mist clinging to low places. Pretty morning, and I stepped out of the car delighted to see the clouds disappearing toward the horizon, infused with pink.

I watched the moon set as I walked. I listened to flocks of geese passing overhead, and little birds in the trees as I passed by. What a lovely morning!

I get to my halfway point, and sit in the morning sunshine for a little while, feeling it warm on my back. I fill my senses with Spring sights and scents and sounds. I’m eager to be back at my easel, painting. I feel energized and inspired.

It feels good to have my studio back. It also feels a little weird. I’ve spent two years being accommodating, and now I am able to stretch and fill my space with inspiration and purpose. I’m grateful for this opportunity to really appreciate how fortunate I am. It was 35 years of painting before I ever had a dedicated studio space, and that first one only lasted a year – but I learned a lot about what I need artistically, and what matters most. We bought our little house in small town America, my Traveling Partner and I, in part because this little house has enough room for a small art studio for me (a bit of design and shop space for him was something that developed later, and our wee house is a little small for all of everything, but it’s generally enough).

I sit swinging my feet as I sit on this fence rail thinking about the weekend. There’s plenty to do. I try sorting things in my head, first by priority, then by level of enthusiasm, then by difficulty. None of that works; there is a necessary and rather practical order of operations to most of it. Nested tasks that only make sense in one sequence, mostly, and a few other tasks that will create pleasant breaks.

… And then there’s the garden; it’s s lovely sunny day and the garden wants attention…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The path unfolds ahead, and I need only walk it. The destination? A work ready studio, a cozy, tidy library, and a lovely garden; isn’t that enough? I sigh contentedly, enjoying this moment just as it is. It too is enough. I hop down from the fence rail, startling s bunny in the grass I hadn’t seen approaching, and get ready to walk on. It’s time to begin again.