Brushes are our friends, sometimes our best friends. When we paint often enough, the brush becomes an extension of our hands, our wills and our hearts. When I was a child, I can remember wanting to paint alongside my father. As he didn't trust my skill-level, I was given a bucket of water and a large brush and told that I could paint the side of the garage, which was cement block. I painted happily, as I recall, enjoying the rhythm and the coverage. All went well until the water started drying up and I could no longer see the fruits of my labors. Bummer. These days my home is filled with brushes of all kinds....various handles and ferrules, with hairs from goats, ponies, squirrels and the beloved Kolinsky Sables. They are, to me, a symbol of creative work, no matter who is wielding them. Jack Lieberman shared his tips on cleaning with me - a bar of olive oil soap that sits alongside my sink. I clean them lovingly now and again. And they serve me well. "Paint Brush - Labor Series" was painted in one of my classes and was one of those odd paintings that seemed to paint itself....I think my heart was in it. The bristles are not perfect, but show signs of use.....off I go for today to pick up my best friend. We plan to work together.
