Well, not actually. But maybe, metaphorically. There hasn’t been much production from me lately. If there really is such a thing as a muse, mine was off gallivanting somewhere else. More likely, it was my own gallivanting that got me into trouble.

Partly out of necessity, and partly by choice, I took a month away from painting. I spent the first half of October preparing my family before I ran off without them. I spent a blissful two weeks driving along the coast of California, ballooning over the vineyards of Napa Valley, and contrasting the serenity of the California desert with the intensity of Las Vegas.

It was an amazing adventure, and in truth, it was the first time I’d “flown solo” for any significant length of time. I expected to come home with a head filled with new work that would spill out onto the canvas. I was wrong.

It was a full six weeks, and I’d hardly touched my brushes.

I wondered if the muse had abandoned me, but it seems it was I who left. My family has always been my inspiration, my work, even when unintended, speaks to the everyday juggling that comes with raising them. Apparently, I need that chaos in my life to find the quiet in painting. So just in the last few days, after nearly two full weeks back at home, my brush finally touched canvas.

It was lovely to spend time away from them, but as it turns out, I’m only whole when they are making me wish I was back up in that balloon.