This is the pastel I started yesterday at Judy's. I thought it was the only one I have done without clouds, but when I put it up on the wall I saw that I have done one other one with a clear sky, too. This one I actually blended with my fingers because the paper was so rough I wasn't able to make it look smooth without filling in the texture. Normally smooth isn't what I want, but in the case of an unblemished sky the bumps and lines of the paper are distracting. Of course I didn't smudge anything below the horizon.
I did make soup today for David and I to eat tomorrow night--apple soup. It smelled delicious cooking as I worked in my studio. But once I had finished this painting, I couldn't think of another thing I wanted to do. I felt tired and irritable and fat. An on-line test I took the other day told me that my real age, as opposed to my chronological age, is 67 years, and despite my belief that these tests mean nothing, I have been bothered by this ever since. It is sobering enough that my age is 61, but I have thought that I was a healthy 61. I am unable to dismiss the results of this test, which dooms me because of my lack of vegetables, fruits, and exercise, and chastizes me for getting too much sleep. My reaction to this was to eat a big bowl of cereal and take a long nap.