Due to various issues, this is the first year in about two decades when the winter wood supply wasn't in the shed, cured and dry. Nope. My wood is in the shed (thanks to my daughter, who spent a gruelling two weeks splitting and wheelbarrowing and stacking with me in August), but it is either uncured but dry, or cured but soaking wet, or both. 

So. The house is so cold that my toes and fingertips hurt. Solution? Bring some cured-but-wet wood into the house and store it in the stove oven until dry. And curtain off all areas that don't already have a doorway. The stairway gets the first curtain, which I made by painting a large piece of canvas with acrylics.

It turns out that, even when things are as amicable as possible, divorce is harrowing. I am not one who understands my own feelings at once, but I do love to paint. I have been cupping images in my mental hands for years and, this fall, nailing them down with paint. 

Not sure what the title to this one is, yet. There is something brittle about her; both fragile and hard.

This one is called "Frigid." You can imagine why .. but don't. It's both  more and less than what you think.

And this is the last one, so far. It also isn't yet titled.

All of these might get some more layers on them, though I'm not a big fan of layers. I like the immediacy of just smearing paint on the canvas and then it's done. (And yes, I love watercolors too).