I felt more alive in general, bounding out of bed, and eventually, into a rhythm of painting every morning before the heat of the day really got serious. And the camaraderie, even without a shared language in many cases, was almost a given. Camaraderie, or was I just a spectacle…? In any case, inevitably there would be a whole crowd around my easel, around and behind me, discussing what I was doing, discussing discussing. Sure wish I could have understood what they were saying!
This one is unfinished, from the porch of our hostal. Can’t wait to get back to work on the paintings I brought home. Twelve of them. What am I waiting for.