. . . defined the darkness

No, not the blackness of my soul, or the depths of a bad mood. No, the definition of darkness is a Target store in the middle of a torrential downpour when the lights go out.





Matt and I were in Target last evening when that happened. Some people shrieked; toddlers cried; one beautiful young girl used the time wisely to jump into her boyfriend's sheltering arms, cringeing in happy fear. I didn't see that until the lights came back on, but he looked a bit disappointed not to have had a longer time playing the hero.






The 30% possibility of showers became very hurricane-like. Apparently 60-mile-per-hour winds and hail accompanied driving rain. I was happy to be off the roads. When I got home, there was a huge limb blocking my driveway, and the the neighbors were busily using their chainsaw to cut it up. Well, it was their tree, after all, so it only seemed fair.






Here are some more blunderings. . . maybe that's the name of a series??? I'm really into monoprinting. Well, I think that's what I'm doing, anyway. Lots of blotting up paint from one surface to another. Using deli paper, cardboard, matboard, old office file folders, plastic wrap, plastic bags from the grocery store, baby wipes.






Without having to judge each piece on its monetary value, I feel pretty good about loving some of these happy accidents. I was going to say they were completely random, but they are not. . . I still choose the colors, the combinations, the direction in which I apply the blots of paint, and the parts to leave alone.