The Jack Rabbit

Green and darker green on more green. My studio today. . 87 degrees and rising underneath the sweet Palo Verde tree with Italian lights strung chaotically in no particular order on its branches.  A cactus wren chirping madly in a Saguaro nearby towering in its elegant, ancient beauty. The breeze is soft, coming down from the turbulent north. There is a common mourning dove out there always and the whimpering of the roadrunner is barely audible. 

Wondering if this might be THE place I want to settle down. . build a small studio surrounded by the still, quiet desert with a saguaro right out my window. 

Also wondering what to paint today. A jack rabbit hops, skips and jumps right by me. 

I decide to paint a desert jack rabbit. . soft floppy ears. Quiet, quiet. When the jack rabbits sing. . where will I be??

Sometimes I forget who I am or why I am here and then I remember. I am a painter. I am on a journey. I am here to do what I do. . paint. 

A large wheel table is next to my small wrought iron one. It is covered with random things. A small rock, two flower branches, one yellow and one purple flowered. I hear a train in the distance… it must be the 5:10 to Yuma — one of my favorite movies from the 50’s.

I kind of want to paint on everything. I have a linen dish towel that I never use but seem to always have it with me. Maybe I might put it out to look at more if I painted something on it? The story of my life on fabric??

I have never painted on my things before, but I feel like starting. Like Joseph Cornell. He painted on everything, then put it all into assemblage set in little wooden boxes. Rough stuff but cool. 

Thomas Merton in the desert… “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” How oddly strange and true.