While mulling over ideas and possibilities and even some outlines of what I want to write next, I feel increased pressure to do something creative for my own well-being. I mentioned a project I’m working on, but I’m not ready to post photos of it yet (though I’m closer after getting some advice from Lindsey and Lynne last night).
I took my camera with me on a walk on Tuesday just in case I saw anything worth shooting. I took a lot of photos, finally realizing that I seemed more interested in textures than anything else. It’s been almost two years since I did any of my small paintings that I sell to give the proceeds to AIDS assistance organizations, and I’m hoping Tuesday’s photos will inspire more paintings.
I threw the photos into a Flickr set and kept it public, though I imagine the photos won’t be of much interest to anyone unless you, too, can be inspired by photos of not much more than texture or color.
The photo on the left is of part of a two-story duplex in the neighborhood. It was one of two places that Tom suggested I see after he did initial legwork when we were in the market for a house fourteen years ago. I never went inside it, because The Compound bungalow was my one-and-only. As soon as I stepped inside the front door, I knew it was meant to be mine. Still, even though I never looked at the duplex, my feelings for it remind me of certain flirtations from my long-ago past: enduring affection for what might have been mine.