No more worrying about paint spills on the carpet. No more newspapers and paintings on the floor gathering dust.
What a difference a table makes!
Hubby installed one for me in the bedroom. Not quite the Virginia Woolf ideal of a woman's room of her own, but it does the trick for now.
Which means I am able to paint on weeknights from now on. The work is getting bigger and better as a result.
I am currently making chinese ink paintings, continuing with the theme of imagined, or fantastical, forests and vegetation. Mostly I am fascinated by mangroves and aerial roots.
The work is a slow burner. The thing about ink is that it's very punishing: one mistake and all those hours of stretching the paper are gone down the drain. With the compositions that I make, the success of each depends on the execution of the brush, as opposed to an arresting image.
I can trace this interest in roots to an incident last year - when I saw the marvellous, ginormous weed growing in Hoy Cheong's indoor garden! I spent hours sitting there admiring the roots that meandered along the lines between the red bricks, like an elegant and slow drawing being rendered on the wall.