Happy Mothers Day. I'm nobody's mother, except maybe the cat's. I feed her, police her litter box, take her to the vet when needed, and prop up her fragile ego every day. Once again she neglected to send me a card. I can't just sit around waiting for tokens of her appreciation; I made myself a nice rhubarb pie.
While the sunshine is bright and the birds are singing, it's nippy outside. It was cold enough last night that I hauled the potted basil plants into the garage to prevent them being nipped by frost. I'm something of a hothouse flower, myself, so I stayed inside to work on a project that I've had ready to go for about a month. It's larger than my usual small work, 1950s magazine advertising collaged over a dismal watercolor, and then a drawing of two young men with their catch of the day over the collage. I finally took a deep breath and started an oil painting. I use water mixable oil paint since I can't tolerate turpentine vapors. I've never tried anything quite like this before, so we shall see how it goes.
I'm working a standard size, so it will not need custom framing, if it turns out to be a keeper.