The story of my life... but not for long.

About a year ago I decided I would paint something for my Kittens. No, not my cats, my friends Amy and Becca. We call each other "Kitten." It's a long story... and for another post.

Anyway, Kitten A's birthday is in August. That came and went. Kitten B's birthday is in November. Gone. So I thought, "Christmas." Not so much. I mean, really, I don't think I even bought the canvas until January.

Since then these blank canvases have been staring back at me. Some days I pretend they aren't there. Who am I kidding? Most days I pretend they're not there. But I never forget. And I feel bad. Really, really bad. Not because I've promised my Kittens a painting- they don't even know I was planning on painting one. No, I feel bad because I know I have the talent to do it... and I don't.

I should back up and explain that there was a time in college when I LOVED to paint. Like, a therapeutic, longing, grasping, creative-energy-slash-compulsive need to paint. I didn't paint enough because, let's face it, I had other studios. But man did I love it.

Skip to a year and a half ago when I took on a portrait... of a friend's father who died when he was young. From a small military photo. A surprise gift from his wife for his 30th birthday. No pressure, right? I mean, so what that I haven't picked up a brush since college? And, yeah, I'll use acrylic instead of oil. Wise choices, all.

There were days that I sat on my porch and cried over the frustration of that portrait. I literally pulled my hair out trying to make it as perfect as possible. And since perfect doesn't exist, I aimed for resemblance. I still can't stand to see the painting and picture side-by-side, because I just can't see the resemblance. But people tell me it's there.

Fast forward to today when I read Erin's post. She might as well have been reading my mind. Hell, she is my big sister.

So tonight I will throw out all the excuses and do what I do. Because I'm an artist. There, I said it, happy?

Thanks, E.