Well, of course I don't know life's meaning/purpose. But my friend and I talked about it at lunch on Tuesday. After asking herself, "Is this all there is?" she looked at her great kids and decided that her contribution to their lives is enough. I agreed. I can look at my daughter and think the same. But I can't escape continually looking for purpose. Every day is full. I paint, I spend time with my grandchildren, I garden, I write, I cook, sometimes I knit, I contribute to the community - right now in our local art association. What more could I want? I am not sure. But I do know I am not ready to sit in my rocker and let the world pass me by. Can't. Nope, can't.
Some days I am content. If I am proud of an encaustic painting I've finished, conducted a good meeting, felt I have helped my grandchildren spend a productive, happy day, or have spent quality time with Papa, my daughter, or a friend, then I feel quite happy with myself. On other days I look around and see those who paint better, write better, spend their time better, and I wish for more.
Right now I want my paintings to be more. For years I have tried to make my painting meaningful, but often, in the end, meaning is lost. To me and surely the viewer. I don't want to be a silly old lady who paints pretty little flowers. I don't like what it says about me. But sometimes I like the little flower paintings.
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