Has it been that long?

So many times in my life I have started projects. Small things, like cleaning out a closet or planning the best ever vegetable garden, or drawing every day in that new drawing pad purchased so intentionally to sharpen my skills and move me forward in my work. Yet most all of these well intended projects have gone unfinished.

While "starting" to clean out my studio, I recently found one of those very drawing pads, hard covered with a good binding and smooth-toothed paper. I opened it, thinking I would continue drawing from where I left off. In this particular book there were a few sketches of a highway done on a family trip to Washington D. C. and some drawings of kids playing instruments at a grammar school band rehearsal.

Oh man, I'm thinking this work was done years ago. School day sketches. Ridiculous, my youngest is 24. (at least at the time I wrote this, who knows how old he'll be by the time this is read by anyone). I felt panicked and sad, and standing there all alone, I felt shame. I'm thinking I should rip out the old drawings so no one will know the time span between entries. No one will know how I have been floating through life, touching down so infrequently, accomplishing so little. The,"So what do you have to show for yourself?" line chimed in as a refrain to this anthem of failure ringing in my head.

And yet...

Today, almost a year from my first post, I present an image of the under-painting for a large canvas work. It's from the first street of the first town of my walk. I just started it this week.

It's incomplete and right now I'm okay with that. I hope to finish the the work, but for now I'm happy just doing the work. The studio remains a mess.

Repetition of the tide