The last 45 minutes were almost a joy, my painting was carefree and purposeful, the gnawing in my gut faded to the background, and SPQR took a pleasing leap towards completion (no photos yet though, I’d only pick holes in it.)
I resolved, when I arrived, not to turn the computer on just to see how much I could get done.It seems a good decision, I didn’t have the urge to report every thought I had, and every movement I made.This has reaffirmed my suspicions that having the internet in here would be a calamitous development.
Right, back to werk.
It would appear I may have been a tad rash when I admonished Lamp Black in favour of Ivory Black a few weeks ago. Lamp Black does have a place in my palate. Ivory Black has a tendency to dry grey-ish and murky (must be the charred bones they put in it). I want the BLACK-EST of BLACKS. I want clarity of colour fading to darkness. Welcome back Lamp Black.
So it goes on: knocking back colour and bringing in the darkness. Uninhibited brush-strokes, a feeling of goodness… just werking away without any over-complicating thought process. This is how it should be, a natural, easy, stress-free operation. And I’ve worn down this brush by a good few millimetres as proof of my hard werk.
It’s felt damp all day, but there’s suddenly a real chill in the air. Maybe it’s the Tindersticks on the Pod of i, maybe it’s because I’ve paused for a moment’s consideration, maybe it’s just the wet English summer creeping up the ladder to make itself felt.
Today I have made real progress. Today was not a chore. Today was a turning point.