Have I ever been so nervous to sit down and write? I write every single day that I breathe, but there is something momentous happening.
Many years ago, before I traveled, married, became a mother, became a translator, became an expat, became, became... I was a painter. If anyone asked me who I was, I was a painter. I was living in New York City and then New Mexico, and I was a painter.
Then all that life happened. All that meaning came and I was the fulcrum of people and commitments and businesses and children. I still painted. I somehow toiled at it, where I had never toiled before. But my life was and is logistically challenging. I live on two different continents. I run a business. I parented hardcore forever, with love and gratitude and amazing results. I have grown older. I have lived like a vagabond. I have been lost and found. I would not change a thing.
And then there is now. This thing that has come over me like a force from my very core.
All I want to do forever is paint. And paint. And paint. I know it is why I am on this planet. And now I can.
This must be the revolution. This must be the evolution. I don't care about how small I have to paint now (I am in Colorado right now living in a very small space), or how I will handle the cold in my studio in Italy (my Italian studio needs heat!) or what will happen to all of these paintings being born and coming alive. I never cared about that. I now realize all that time I was painting when I was younger I was creating mandalas. They could blow away when I was finished. A painting becomes its own creature the minute the artist decides it is finished. It is a kind of being. It will go where it will go.
So that is why I am here. To record the road along the way. To write about it. See it. Share it or not. I have felt many things in this life, but damn... this feels beyond huge. What is the feeling? It feels like a quake. Like a geyser. Like the sweetest reunion.