Monday, January 9, 2012

Monday again.

It is black as the inside of someone's mouth outside, and the sound of rain rules over the room, meshes with the glow of the screen. It's Monday morning again, which means a guilt-induced breakfast salad, half-day of cleaning house, another half-day of painting. Squeezed into there somewhere is cooking and coffee with a friend.

I've been thinking about the contents of the next solo show for a while now, and must sadly conclude that it will be about birds. Why? Because birds are interesting. Ever-present. Enduring. Symbolic. Birds are one of those things that are Worth Painting.  I'd even put them somewhere between houseplants and cats within the realm of personal understanding. (But, who would want a painting of a houseplant?)

Recently, one of those mega-flocks of starlings has been hanging around the trees in the front yard. It is no surprise that they've yet to move south- it was 50 degrees out here last afternoon, probably a record high for this timeof the year. The flock itself splits up every morning into smaller marauding bands, which waddle across lawns and plop collectively into privet bushes to eat the tiny blue berries. In the evenings, starlings sing much like they walk- with a great deal of enthuseasm and zest, but little grace. 

Starlings remind me of people- those gregarious, tenacious flocks of strangers in the cities.