One day not long ago I sat on my porch and painted. It's a nice place to sit and paint, and if the view were a little less unvarying, I would do it often. It's not a very good painting/sketch (I'm troubled by the mustard-like blobs of yellow and jaggedly window frame), but I find it like a catchy tune, and I like to look at it. Maybe that's the magic of composition and color. Or maybe it's because the scene is so embedded in my head. I photographed the painting in the afternoon, and caught a bit of my own shadow in the corner that I didn't notice until later.
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