I am not really happy with this, but it is fine for five hours of effort.  I will try to fix the large rock.  It looks really dumb.

The truth is, I have to admit that I am becoming more comfortable with this medium. I wish I had started thirty years ago, but learning to paint with oils is good for me.  There is a feeling I get that is comforting. If I could overcome my fear, maybe the way I paint will be okay.  Maybe my work won’t look like the paintings of artists I admire, but maybe I will have my own voice. A style of my own.  Is it too late to develop a style of my own?

I love the way oil paint moves and how slow it dries. You can go back to the piece you were working on after three or four hours and the paint can be pushed around unlike it could be earlier.  There is a slight resistance, a holding on to the canvas, that allows a different manipulation that very fresh paint can’t hold up to. Go back twelve hours later and everything is different again, with limitations and new options that weren’t there before. Every length of dry time opens up new possibilities. It is simply enchanting.  I must not give up!