Dreaming like old dogs….

I am like an old dog.... circling and circling before I can lie down comfortably in my bed (ie, my studio), and actually get to the work of dreaming - which, for me, is the precursor to creating.  I sat with a cup of hot, black coffee and delighted in the view: white clouds bumping against the mountains; fuzzy red-orange peaches peeking from the green leaves; swaggering and raucous (and much loved) crows holding court in the apricot tree; silly squirrels defying gravity with their wire-walking antics.  I got up, gathered some books that I want to make transfers from, set them in a pile on the floor.  Went downstairs for a fresh cup of coffee.  Back to the studio.  Sat on the couch with Cami (young dog) - who has a much clearer understanding of how to dream than I ever will - and rubbed her belly.  Went downstairs and fed the fish.  Back upstairs to the studio.  Wrote in my journal.  Got up.  Downstairs to the cellar for a new light bulb.  Back upstairs.  New bulb in, sat down.  Collected the workshop signup sheets and put them in their binder.  Which got me back to the office - big mistake - and then I answered email and paid a few bills.  Rule #1:  On studio days, do NOT, repeat do NOT, turn on the computer.  It is a giant vortex that sucks me down a worm hole of alternate reality that is the antithesis of studio work.  And now, look!  I'm blogging.  sigh.  But this is cleansing, clearing, dusting the cobwebs and clutter from my thoughts - which now are being taken over by the inner scold:  "For the love of the saints, will you just get in the studio and WORK?!!"   Okay, okay.... I'm going back in the studio and turning on the hot palettes.  ...And that gets me started:  the smell of the melting wax is so evocative and alluring that I begin my studio day.