It's early morning here, and the best time of day. I love the sunrise from our mountain, looking east across the Catawba Valley. Just the fact that the sun is rising again seems to be an affirmation of faith from the night before; and now, as first light brings shapes out of darkness, the day stretches before us full of mystery and promise. Nothing that will happen has happened: Like runners at the line, we are poised in one long moment waiting for the starting gun.
The garden is still and quiet. Even the bugs are still asleep. In a few minutes, I'll finish my coffee and put in my half hour walking. But for now, I am still and quiet and peaceful, too.
This is when art is born, I think. The unworkable from yesterday can be fixed; questions can be asked and answered; the insurmountable has a ready solution. We, and all our paintings, are babies born to greet the dawn.
PW
Sunday, July 26, 2009
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