Art for me has become an escape. I used to share it with my late husband but now I have to make the decisions without a sounding board. He was my cheer leader.
I'm managing but slowly. I get keen and then not quite sure if it's finished or not and need that little push to say I've done enough.
I'm working towards an entry for a November book arts exhibition.
I still have about 10 things that need finishing. They call to me and I look at them, handle them and then think, not yet. The beachcomber I've made is waiting for a piece of driftwood to walk on. She also needs her head attached too. Sometimes that's how I feel.