Last night I went to my Art class for the first time since burying my father. I can see that my world will be divided into before my Dad died and after. I struggled in class for the first time in a long time. I questioned why I was taking an abstract class when I'm a realistic painter naturally. Is there some method in my madness of trying to force growth through discomfort? Or am I just putting myself in another place where I don't fit in? Anyway, the resulting painting was full or harsh shapes, lines, and color. A painting of discomfort and struggle. I might paint over it, but I'm posting it here first. Here's my painting baby.