I finally found an afternoon to paint a red brick home that I often pass on my way back from work. I keep my eye open for it, and always appreciate its beauty as I drive by. I settled myself on property that is part of a park and playground. Yes, I thought, a playground is a perfect place for me. There it was waiting for me to arrive and begin the day. I've decided that the process of painting a place gives me a kind of "ownership" of it. Now it's mine, and although I've chosen to take liberties with its actual photographic likeness for the purpose of my painting, my interpretation encompasses the elements I see in it that particularly define it for me. As I sat watching it today for about 4 or 4 1/2 hours, the shadows deepened, and gave great contrast to the sunny yellow greens that touched the tops of all the foliage.
I also met the woman who lives there, a lady around 5o years old, who told me that she always walked by this house years ago, when she was in school, to visit the home of a good friend who lived on a street not far away. She had always loved this house then, and now she actually lives in it. That can only happen for someone who was born and grew up in the same area where they now live their adult life.
As for me, I've lived in so many places over the years, but in each place, I lived somewhere that I called home. So, I surmise, it's more about inhabiting the space and making it yours, than about the house being perfect for you.