I awoke in major arm pain with the cast squeezing my last smile. I broke down and finally grieved for my hand, as I apologized, for yet another time, for being stupid on a ladder. I had to stop that unforgiving tape, and move on. I went for a happy visualization of this same day. A cold snowy night, we were bus tired and off a bus in the heart of Stratford-on-Avon, Shakesphere's land was dream enough. As we entered the new town Hilton, under great scrutny for its modern brick look, we saw a big Christmas lobby tree. No food available and exhausted, we all hit the sheets. Our body clocks were way off. We awoke at 9PM. Contacted 2 new travelers and went exploring the fog filled town, searching for dinner.Through the door we heard fun and excitement in a pub. We knocked at the inn door, "no room available at this private party", we heard a voice from the back...Oh let the bloody kids from the colonies in", a door to an art dream era opened. Beer pints in hand, the neighbors welcomed us to their private world. Roast turkey and all English trimmings, bubbles (potatoes)and squeak ( brusslesprouts, cabbage) were served. The boys drank pints and played darts with locals. I looked at and smelled the large hearth yule log burning, creating a glow on faces I had only seen in famous paintings.Men burst through, dancing with high black socks, ribbons on hats, clogging. A new energy filled an already idealic vision.Morris Men entertained, red faced, chapped nosed children's faces, playing by the firelight, entered my visual painting. This is the same lighting Raphael used, or Renoir painted, until now, I didn't understand that palette. I had stepped back into an artists time and Kenny and I were bathed in a painter's light. That English Christmas card lives with me forever. I was living my art school dream. The 70's are gone, my husband passed but this artist's vision is still is alive.
Blessings this holiday everyone. When we bathe in light, nothing can be wrong.
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