It seems rarer and rarer that I get to play and practice. But I did this week. After a little time the room was littered with drying experiments. I worked fast and even as I worked I questioned why I couldn’t slow down. I was running. Trying to outrun the doubt and negative self-talk that creeps in and wakes me up at night, that freezes my hand sometimes.
The pieces were messy and bright and even bloody looking. A purging. Sometimes the practice is smooth, other times it’s a little desperate. After I'm done I like to put them away and go back days later and perform a kind of divination, seeing in the images and colors messages.