Astute readers may have picked up on my love for little things: bric-a-brac, LEGOs, short piano pieces, etc. In that regard, I am like a little old lady with her Precious Moments or Hummel figurines.
To self-indulgently psychoanalyze myself, I think this love the miniature comes, in part, from my own girthful size. I’ve always been big (and, frequently and currently, fat), so there’s something appealing about disappearing into a tiny little world. My brothers know that I am exceptionally good at disappearing during family social functions—usually to read a book or to take a nap in some forgotten corner of whatever relative’s house we’re visiting.
Even in fantasy roleplaying games (RPGs for my n00b friends), I like to play small rogues—halfling thieves, Wood Elf bards, etc. That stealthy, crafty quality appeals to me, especially in a compact package.
Regardless of why I like small things, I do. That is certainly the case with the arts; besides piano miniatures, I like short stories, and blogging is, in many ways, short-form essay writing.
That extends to painting, too, and a collection of small canvasses that I slowly turned into a substantial body of amateurish works.
With that, here is 22 February 2022’s “Little Paintings“:
The Portly Politico 