There is something exhilarating about forging through a storm under an umbrella with a friend, or spouse, or sibling, or child. You blindly press forward afraid to release the umbrella, and knowing that by sharing it you are getting soaked to the bone. I am neither timid nor afraid of geological storms, but in an honest assessment of myself, have to admit that I am more than reluctant to face metaphorical ones. I don’t seem to trust that they will end, and sometimes the darkness is more than I feel like going into.

I am not experiencing a storm: metaphorical, or geological. I have been traveling and had time and willingness to paint. I realized that I had about the same amount of white paint, that if it were toothpaste, I could brush my teeth 3x. If you paint in oils you know white is the one color you must have. Failing to plan is planning to fail. So I planned a painting based on color: my puddle of mud left from an earlier painting, darks, and my 3 dabs of white. Circumstances brought about the storm; that happens sometimes.