I woke up feeling warm and happy, but wishing that I could spend my day in my warm, sunny studio equiped with a record player, fresh fruit, and clean brushes. My studio has a wall covered with magazine clippings, advertisements, and photographs. Another wall has a bank of windows that lead out to a covered porch containing drying paintings and half-finished projects. The third wall is my makeshift photography studio with backdrops and lights in place, and the last wall shelters the paintings that I’m currently working on. I don’t have an easel, I prefer to staple the raw canvas or fabric to the wall and paint away on the wall. My large walk-in closet is filled with plenty of shelves for all of my paint and supplies, and has color-coded bins for all of my fabric. This closet is also where I keep all of my treats (M&M’s, juice, and carmel apples). The floors of my studio are concrete and covered in dribbled and spilled paint. I can be found there, dressed in overalls, when my husband comes home from work asking, “is that dinner burning in the oven?”. I can be found there on tuesday covering a huge wall of canvas in blue, or on wednesday, reading Da Vinci’s journals. For lunch, I’ll take Bruno (my chihuahua) for a walk, or visit my daughter’s elementary school. The door of my studio is never locked.
This place only exists in my mind. I guess that it’s my version of the American Dream. It is my sublime vision of the fruition of my present efforts. *grin* I’ll send all ya’ll a picture of it when I’m there. =)

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