Last weekend, after a week of office work, I was somewhat worried that I might not be able to get back to the place that I had worked my way into. It has taken more than a month of painting every day and talking about painting every day to get there. Having had that suddenly cut off was not nice. However, I really ought not to have worried.
In the middle of Saturday afternoon, a little while after I had tidied and cleaned, the need to paint just smoothly flowed into me. It wasn't subtle either. It just hit me: I must paint. I dropped whatever I was doing at the time, walked over to my board and picked up a brush. I was there. Back. A while later, when I stepped back, I realised that I was relieved.
On Sunday, I started a new piece. It was a reflection on the difficult week that had passed. This weekend I will be trying to pull that one back from the brink.
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