Finders Keepers

I live in semi-rural suburbia, and as a member of the Artsy-Fartsy tribe, I am something of an anomaly because I love the 'burbs. Occasionally, I pine for an art store that sells something other than scrapbooking kits, but that's why they invented the Internet and overnight shipping. I'll take the deep quiet of a dark night and easy access to Super Target and all things caffeinated.

Most suburbs where I live are constructed around "green belts" (which for those not in real estate means "storm sewer"), vast swaths of a weed charitably called "grass" that fill up with water when the winter rains arrive. Not only are these places great for the dogs' daily constitutional, they are a gold mine for childhood ephemera. I have logged hundreds of miles channeling my furry kids' ADD and along the way have amassed quite a collection of items from what I consider public domain. Don't get me wrong, I am not snatching pacifiers from the mouths of babes, but if I find a Hot Wheels car or a Nerf ball hidden in the grass on my sojourn, well, finders, keepers. Occasionally, there is a major score, like the Buzz Lightyear kiddie meal prize I found on the horse trail behind my house, the fake rock complete with plastic seaweed in the middle of the street, and the prize of my collection, a pink flip-flop as big as my hand (an early indoctrination into princesses and glitter) from the gutter down by the Walgreen's on the corner. And no, it's not for sale.
As my "learning Painter" saga continues, I have been painting pieces from my collection. This one is entitled "Get That Out of the Driveway." The series also includes "Where is Your Other Shoe," and "If You Lose That, I'm Not Buying You Another One."