I find it remarkable that I was able to make any new work at all, considering how insane the last 8 months of my life has been.
It all started when we prepared our house for sale. We decided we were going to move 1,000 miles to a warmer climate. It’s no small undertaking to downsize your belongings after a decade of life in a house. With kids. While you’re still trying to make paintings. But we did it. We sold our house in a mere 3 days and then had to prepare to move. Another massive undertaking with more downsizing.
We hunted for a home, under the impression that we’d simply sell our beloved home and find its equivalent 1,000 miles away in a city we knew little about. Instead we ended up hunting for a suitable place to rent. Finding a place to rent wasn’t as hard as we thought and renting meant we could learn about our new city, make friends, relax and casually look for a home to call our own.
It didn’t happen that smoothly. Although the house we rented was great, the other tenant who lived in the ground floor suite was one of the worst possible tenants anyone could ever imagine living near. It shocked us. I’ll spare the gory details, but if there’s one thing I learned with the experience, it’s that you never, ever want to get on the bad side of an activist call girl (“luxury companion” as she referred to herself as) and her drug dealer boyfriend. It was bad. And my innocent, wonderfully naïve family had some major life lessons we didn’t ever expect would come our way.
And then we found a home. In a quiet, safe, wonderful neighbourhood. With a great big studio. And everything turned around. And we’ve made wonderful friends and found out things can be just as good as you once imagined.
So we packed up and moved from our interesting rental. Again, upending everything in our lives. Yet I managed to find time to do what I do best. Time to sit in my studio and quietly work on my quiet paintings.