Since we may or may not be getting a massive hurricane in the next few days, it seemed a good time to venture into the garage and check for items we wouldn't want to lose to a flood.
I found a box full of dusty old drawings and paintings I'd done, lo these many years ago when I flirted with the idea of getting a degree in Art.
I hated and loved my drawing classes. Hated them because they were just so messy -- I'd come away each lesson face and clothing smudged with charcoal. And the huge sheets of paper and art box were so unwieldy to lug about campus.
But I did love that quiet peace that would settle over the studio once we all had our easels set up, the air of focus and concentration. The occasional whispered suggestion from the teacher, the nod of approval. Stepping back after having been lost deep in the drawing to see a picture coming to life.
I haven't held a paintbrush in years (apart from painting my bathroom walls). After I discovered the clean and sterile world of graphic design the pen tablet replaced my palettes and paint tubes and my creations are now kept in tidy little computer files instead of rotting in the garage.
But it's no substitution, is it.