I broke out my gouache for the first time in almost a year.
I painted the little bouquet I bought from an Amish farm stand at the flea market. It's going a little brown around the edges, but it still made a lovely still life.
I did a quick pencil sketch and then threw down layers of color, trying to stick with cool tones. I'm pretty happy with the end result, especially considering I had no idea what I was doing. The single red flower throws my palette in disarray, and the values could have a little more range. But it still has a certain charm.
I went out to breakfast this morning with an old friend from grade school who's seven months pregnant with her first child. She asked all sorts of questions about labor, epidurals and diaper brands.
"What about hormones?" she said as we were paying the check. "You know, after birth. Was that hard?"
I didn't want to scare her, but I didn't want to sugar coat, either. She would have been able to tell if I was lying.
"It was hard," I said. "Probably the worst my depression has ever been. It went away, though."
I never know what to tell new moms.