|before the paint|
I had hoped for a blue sky walk in the hills day
but instead was delivered the grey day from a null and void blue sky (I know its up there behind those clouds!)
found it hard to break out of my own greyness today
wanting to paint yet again but still not in that painting vein ...perhaps I shall never be again
I reached for the altered book I use for all sorts of things
I'd already written my own words this morning but felt like working with another's, kinda like blackout poetry
I tore a page out
as I started my words came boldly to the surface page
but I wondered what was behind those words
teasing them out this was the tonic I'd need since that Wednesday.
It felt so good to be just there with no demands, no expectations, no need other then my own being turned and tossed by printed page and two black makers. Two pages later I paused.
Reclaiming my scalpel from my husbands tool box I returned to my design desk where I like to paint, play and create I cut with a ruler one of the pages into strips - this destruction and reconstruction seems to be a thing in my process now... I took the other page and cut precise marks in the page. The scalpel its blade blunt snagged on the soft fawn brown old printed page. The paper folded in tiny mounds like an accordion of unwanted noise.
I replaced the blade wanting crisp sharp cuts in a regular pattern.
I looked at the strips of paper working in silence. Letting my absorbed attention be.
|I liked the roundness of loosely woven paper|
|after the light layers of painting, inking and printing|
But I wonder has my soul been sulking? and I also wonder is painting still too flat...
What do you do to recharge?