Right.  Enough of all this “dark mornings and dark evenings and teetering gingerly across glassy ice praying today is not the day I die of a massive head injury from slipping” malarky.  Isn’t it time for Spring yet?  Only February, you say?  Only the most depressing month of the entire year?  Well fie, I say.  Fie to that.

In honor of my utter denial that it is STILL winter, I have pulled out this painting:

Black Cherry

Black Cherry

…which I started years ago, but never quite got around to finishing.  It was pretty much done, but needed embellishment, really.  All those flowers you see?  They are cut out of paper and stuck on with glue.  Individually, by hand.  It took aaaaaaaaaaages.  Years, in fact.  Mainly because I’d look at it, consider my scissors and paper, and then go do something else.

But then the other day, I figured I needed to finish this painting before the real Spring actually makes its appearance.  Or before I slip on the ice and kick the bucket.  3 or 4 years is a long enough time to procrastinate.  So I started, and it was actually pretty Zen, cutting out little flowers, placing individual beads carefully.  It got kind of addictive, and I ended up having to stop myself from getting a little bit too crazy and making the painting look like a blizzard.

I know it’s shamelessly girly. It didn’t really come out in the photograph, but the beads are all iridescent and sparkly.  It makes me think of My Little Pony and dancing to Cyndi Lauper and lovely, lovely springtime.   It makes me happy to look at this when skies are grey, which they most certainly are at the moment.  And it makes me happy that another one bites the dust, too.  Tomorrow I can go back to being a dour goth chick, but for now, I’m pretty happy with this little patch of Spring.