empty canvas

There is nothing more exciting or intimidating than an empty canvas... and I have one right now.

I like to paint furniture. I like how I feel as I do it, like I am reading a story, or taking part in adventure. I don't know entirely where I am going but trust that the paint and the ideas will come as the story unfolds.

I have had this table for years. It was roughly made by hand and has pits and scratches, drilled holes and deep carvings in it. It once sat in a classroom and kids names are written underneath it. But for years now it has been mine and I have loved it... but I knew someday it would be painted. Two days ago I began with the base coats. Deep terracotta on the top, a cool cocoa brown underneath and the legs are the color of the sand on a Mexico beach.

I had planned on painting the top to resemble a Navajo blanket, but in the last day the table has been leading me in a different direction. I can see a moon set in the very center, glowing gray-white in a dark sky. I can see a landscape working it's way around the table reaching for the cool light of the moon. I can see birds in the trees and on the ground and tropical flowers blooming in the cool night air.

A few minutes ago I went to my file of pictures... magazine clippings with colors, textures, designs that delight me... and I found a crazy looking chicken with a red pop-out eye, a picture of a tree with a stick bird in it, and some petroglyphs. I feel armed. I am seeing turquoises and clean pale greens. I am seeing rusty reds and oranges. I am beginning to feel the excitement that comes with beginning.

But I will put off starting... in fact I am putting off starting, since I stopped to take a picture and write. I have to come to it whole. I have to be ready. I have to feel where the first brush stroke will be before I take the plunge. I need to let it all jumble around in my brain a bit longer. But it will be today. Today.