I've been itching to get painting for the last couple of days. Then Wednesday finally rolls around and I lose the urge. I've procrastinated for too long this morning, I will head out to the loft and get on with it...
I arrive to find some wee beastie has passed already judgement on my werk:
I play some music and open the water colour set. By the time I break for tea there is some definite progress with the shadows:
I return and spend a quick 30 minutes werking on the end elevation, and paying some attention to the roof ornamentation. And this is how I leave it:
Just some time to white over a primed canvas before lunch. I exit covered in specks of household emulsion.
Remember 'Wish You Were Here'? I wrestle the behemoth seascape onto the studio wall.
It's a daunting thing to have in front of you, especially when you can't get any distance from it. I throw charcoal, sand, water and paint at it. It is satisfyingly physical.
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