Last month my husband brought home some unwanted shelving from work. These shelves are so nice, I can't understand why companies create such waste with so much emphasis on being green. So my husband brought them home with the idea he'd install them on a studio wall to free up some valuable floor space. As I was getting things moved around for him to install them, I came across a pile of little paintings I did some time ago. I don't even remember painting this one in particular, but I do remember the location and the amount of time it took to paint. My paintings always seem to evoke a memory of what was going on in my life at that time, or where it was and the feeling I had while painting. Kind of like music recollections. This one reminds me of the warm sun on my legs and arms, the sound of the water running and the smell of the pond. Kind of like a little calendar diary, but in visual form. Along in that pile of paintings was another that made me feel cold, and, well, almost mad! It was a painting I did while standing on a cliff in the fog, nearly frozen because I didn't dress warmly, and it reminded me of my fingers stiffening up into the position of holding a pastel. It took my teeth to pull up zippers, loosen up clamps on my easel and close up shop to get to a heated car! I'll never forget that memory of painting in the cold! And frustrating because the piece looked awful! After that quick thought, I tossed it because the painting evoked such a poor memory. Funny how art touches our emotions!