Ready to install. Tired of playing it safe. Mass quantity. I should take another break, walk out of this studio. Get some fresh air. I’m trying to be patient, let the paints dry in between layers. Let the work breath and be. Sit there. Be alive for a minute before fading behind, back, into darkness. I walk out into the light, into the day, under the sun, looking east, fog pillows resting along the hills. I decided today I don’t want to do any housework. None. I don’t even want to go in the house because I know I’ll start working. I need to restrain myself. But I haven’t. I’ve lied, retreated, made marks, and don’t regret it. I walked outside, sat on the hill, I thought “no one can see me, I’m totally hidden, except from there.” I walked down the dry hill, I tried to prolong spring by using too much water. I walked up the hill, sat on the curb. “This looks normal, I’m just sitting here in the sun watching butterflies land on leaves” NO. This is normal. I’m taking a break from my work. Letting the paint dry. It’s more than normal. Oh no, I can’t help myself. One hour and twenty minutes left. Readers. Now there are readers. Viewers too. Push it out of my mind. “She must think I’m crazy” or “should I worry if this only makes sense to a few people?” It may not even make sense to the people closest to me, it might look like a crazy mess of paint that makes no sense, it may sound like gibberish, crazy talk. Oh my.