back here again. In my studio. Hum of the fan, paint drips everywhere, acrylic caked hands.
First time painting since Saturday. I hate painting because it’s like a drug to me, it’s not just the paper, it’s the creating. I felt like i was a stuffed toy, knitted together and i went through the dryer cycle. My temperature changed, i cracked like a dry leaf into a bunch of little tiny pieces.
The fine viens holding me together were delicate, I knew I was tired, but I had this other feeling deep down inside.
The feeling I get when I come down, burnt to a crisp. Will I take it easy? Have I used it all up?
I just start working, unafraid.
The energy i received from working with other artists on Saturday is still with me.