good

It does me good to have both charcoal on my face and paint on my hands, to put effort into something that is both selfish (in the joy it gives me) and external.  To have a little part in just putting something out of my heart and into someone else's line of vision, to be vulnerable to subjectivity. Or just to exercise my hands in obedience to an internal nudge.

The weariness of yesterday has lessened considerably, and with it, the oppressive crankiness of my children. Today was better. And I worked on a mural and a little sketch. Big girl trying to fasten a feather in her hair. Vine and conte on board.