These are the days of spectacular sunrises and sunsets. The November skies turn into works of art. If they were paintings, they might draw crowds for their use of color and brushwork technique. A slip of fuschia here draws the eye in. An expanse of light turquoise bordered by steel gray over there calms the spirit. It’s like having your own personal art show.

Last week, I had the chance to visit three museums that I had never been to before. All of them offered me little hidden nuggets of gold from their collections. First, I perused the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. As I walked through the several floors of Vincent Van Gogh and his artist friends’ paintings, I discovered numerous originals of prints that I grew up with in my home. They were so very familiar but to see the real painting, catch the gleam of color, view up close the thickness and texture of the paint it was as though the painting revealed itself in a whole new way. And of those I hadn't seen before, “Wheatfield with a View” and “Red Cabbages with Onions” both amazed me. Since we weren’t allowed to take photos, I just had to soak them in as I could. (You can check out the whole collection online at vangoghmuseum.nl)

Later in the week, we visited the Museo de Bellas Artes in Valencia, Spain, which has a large collection of paintings from the gothic period to Francisco Goya. Hidden away in another wing which we had to access through an amazing blue courtyard, an exhibit of paintings by Joaquin Sorolla really captured our attention. As Valencia’s native son, he portrayed some local beach and boat scenes in an impressionistic style with a luminous quality. His use of color and brush are wonderful.

Two days later, we walked through the IVAM (Institut Valencià d’Art Modern), the first center of modern art created in Spain. It houses many contemporary art pieces. Here, we were fortunate to see a Jean Dubuffet exhibit which, as some modern art does, made me smile. His focus on the lowly and belief in honesty is often referred to as “art brut” (raw art). And then again, hidden down in the basement, an exhibit of mostly small paintings by Valencian artist Ignacio Pinazo whose dots of color somehow come through as people and buildings and amazing landscapes.

As I perused all these art venues, I felt again that familiar nudge. “Go home and make some art!”, my brain was telling me. “It doesn’t matter what comes of it; just do it.” We all have creative ideas and though we don’t all have the same skill, we still need to create. So often, I push those creative urges aside. I tell myself that I’m not an artist. I think that if I create, I have to sell it or it’s not worth anything.

That’s when I think back to my father who created with words. One day, when I was visiting my parents, I noticed a huge interesting-looking board down in their basement. On closer observation, I saw that it was made up of all kinds of small objects arranged by color and shape and, when seen from afar, it offered a pleasing pattern to the eye. When he lived in Scotland, my father had picked up objects he had found on the street as he walked to work. They had all found a home on this giant board. One day, it disappeared. When I asked about it, my father laughed. “Oh, that!,” he said. “That was just something I was having fun with.” I wish I had taken a photo of it but I didn’t. So instead, I carry it in my mind as a prime example of creating pure art. And I keep reminding myself, I need to do more of that.

When these painterly autumn skies unfold and the cold slowly tries to seep in, it seems like a perfect time to be indoors and create. My block prints are stacked and waiting to be printed. I have scarves to knit. Let the creation begin!