Day three of this intrepid adventure into the world of painting and it already feels like day three hundred. Today I spent eleven hours painting a big flat wall in virtually one colour using a tiny brush. On the plus side this activity seems to have successfully severed the final connection to my emotions and thus now I feel like a robot, devoid of actual feeling but with the ability to view and identify the dull thud of chemistry in the right half of my brain and thus paint it, just like my grey, loveless and tiresome existence before September 2008. I now completely understand why Mark Rothko, who for years painted truly vast paintings all in one colour using a tiny brush, killed himself.
But callooh! callay! let's not wallow instead let's leap from the borogoves an into a warm azure sky, for the picture is on target and looks better than expected. With each passing second my skills are improving, my energy levels are being successfully combated to make these twelve hour days seem like mere trifles (yes! I turn days into trifles) and my proactive positive forces are more pro more active more posit and very live compared to this time last year. Woohoo!
Sorry no picture. I forgot to take one today. Four days to go, including a day at my art group Art Support which will be a day off from painting, ironically.
