Babe in the Woods

I thought for a minute my flurry of painting awesomeness had come to a sudden and decisive halt.  I covered an 8" x 10" canvas panel with a curious combo of silver and peanut-butter-brown (otherwise known as raw sienna) and swirled in some bits of purple.  Before it dried I added some texture.  I have no idea what the end result was going to be but I was damn sure this was a good start.

Then it dried.

Ew.

So I covered the whole thing in white and judiciously scraped and scraped and scraped and scraped and scraped with the palette knife until lots of the underneath bits were poking through (I just accidentally typed "puking through").  When it was dry, I scraped at it again and dribbled some white enamel all over it.

Ew.

At this point I still had no idea where I was going, except for the wee sheep on there.  On a whim I put the sheep in the woods and all was well with the world.

"Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little (sheep) must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year."

I'm quite sure Robert Frost meant sheep and not horse, right?