It is more fragile, for sure, but oh the feeling, as you glide the sable brush across the paper. The paint seems to love the ride. So willing to cling to the brush in your hand and then release itself ever so gently onto the paper. 

I suppose any woodworker will have the same story of a favorite tool. A farmer. A baker. A mechanic. A musician. Each finding the best way to gather and release the vulnerability, the creativity of the attempt. In any creation, there needs to be this combination. And never is that more clear, than with the heart — perhaps our finest, yet most fragile tool. 

Since I was five years old, I put crayon to paper. I would present the crude, but purely honest creations to my mother, and she would clutch her imaginary pearls. One movement of her hand to heart. One movement of my hand to paper. Nothing was easier than this love. So I showed her. Again and again. 

I painted with my new sable brush yesterday. I bought in Minneapolis. I painted with my trusting heart. My mother gave me that so many years ago!