I was mumbling to Pat a couple of days ago about my desire to begin painting again. He took five twenties out of his wallet and held them out for me - "Go buy some supplies", he offered.

Later, I was in Old Town to rendevous with some women I met at a writers' workshop a few weeks ago. Before our bookstore/coffeehouse appointment, I wandered around a couple of art supply stores in the area. It's been quite a few years since I was producing art work during my photo studio days in Oakland, and being in the presence of all the materials brought back familiar feelings of creative opportunity - of unfulfilled potential. Feelings mirrored later when I met with my new literary companions...

Getting back into painting is a little scary. As with writing, I know I am capable of accomplishing something worthwhile, but fear producing nothing of value. With writing, I am only out some time (and wounded ego) if that happens, but with oil painting the tools and materials are surprisingly expensive. At Jerry's Artarama I put together about thirteen 37ml tubes of pigment from a sale bin, and the tab came to over $150! I chickened out and put them all back, planning to seek out a more modest brand and perhaps rethink a more limited palette. Many artists use a palette of only six to ten colors - the problem is they have only a few common choices, leaving me unsure of which colors to embrace.

The oil colors had familiar and alluring names - Alizarin Crimson, Raw Umber, Burnt Sienna, Yellow Ochre, Paynes Gray, and the blues! Ultramarine, Cobalt, Prussian... When I was very young, I used my mother's oil colors. The exotic labels, scents, and tactile experience were seductive as I struggled with the medium. I'm eager to smell the turpentine and linseed oil again, and feel the caress of brush on canvas...