I often jokingly tell people that growing up in a household of artists all the wall space was spoken for. The only room left for art was on the table. I was reminded of that family history as I worked on a painted panel yesterday. Thinking of an 18" by 79" rectangle as a painting stopped me in my tracks, but when I imagined it as a table surface I knew how to proceed. As I started a fire in the studio's wood stove, I set my coffee for a moment on the painting, imagining it as my morning table. Today's efforts softened layers and deepened the colors.
