Am I a great painter – No.
Do I foist my attempts off on friends and relatives for birthday, get well and holiday cards – Yes.
I got hooked on watercolor painting a couple of years ago as a lark. Nothing brings me so much frustration, joy, and satisfaction. It is so addicting, I get cranky if I don’t get my painting fix a couple of times a week.
It brings relief from the daily onslaught as a result of the Trump regime, enabled by the Republican party. Still, indignation and outright rage hung out somewhere in my gray matter.
I started painting these strange women with no particular reason in mind.
Until today, I realized I had painted four of them; one for each year of the Trump administration.
I voted last week with a mail-in ballot. Took it to the post office where the eastern Indian woman assured me of it’s safe arrival to the proper place.
I’ll bet she doesn’t like Trump either.
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.