The measure of a man, The measure of a heart. How can it be quantified? Is this what matters? Yesterday was another Tuesday with my father-in-law (and lessons on the price of oil and trucker highway etiquette). I went to bed early with a headache- forgetting to answer emails or post my daily painting. I am fortunate enough to be able to paint again today. I don't know why I am so lucky to have four hours of studio time. Or if I am, in fact, a failure. Shouldn't there be something to show for it? Why do I feel such pain and doubt? I did small things... sell a small painting, agree to be both on an arts grant panel as well as a school arts steering committee, and I spent time taking care of others:packaging the art of my senior students, cooking dinner, reading to my son. But none of it fills my heart very much. It all seems like busy work compared to the big question of "what is really important? How do we make the world a better place?" This painting is a spiritual painting. How do we measure ourselves? Our friends? Our loves?
11 x 7 inches, acrylic on paper