Hi,

I have spent the day painting after a brief walk in the morning. I am completely wired but worn out at the same time. Painting can be like that for me sometimes. I am frustrated at the end of the day that the day is indeed ending. Somehow time gets lost and I am stuck wondering what to do with myself. So here I am, blogging into the emptiness that has unexpectedly managed to grasp at me. I wonder why that is? I am satisfied with the work and have made some successful leaps. Still it is a strange heartbreak that overcomes me. Is it the realization that the alchemy of painting is not creating any magic? That my dull static life will remain so tired and conventional? Ah well, I should not be so negative. Maybe I will crawl into a book of poetry and dream. Or because I am so, I will get all my things ready for work tomorrow and wash my brushes. I want more from my work and what that is exactly remains elusive.