I had the luxury of painting for the entire day. It was like the days I thought were past me, when I was driven and hooked to the painting. Even now I am sitting in front of it, resisting the urge to go further to touch up here or there, finish that, add that. The painting has gone beyond its teenage phase and takes on its own life now. Part of creating it is being curious about where it will go and what it will look like when it is finally complete. They are weird to me in a way when I look at them. As if they did not come out of me and were created by someone else. It is a strange contradiction that something so close can be so alien. I am not sure if this one is beautiful, the strange violet of the wings that demands me remain on the front of artistry and not illustration. I do not think I am an illustrator. I try but something takes over and makes even the most calm subject emotive. Then here I am wondering in fact where this stuff comes from. All I can say is it feels wonderful. I am back on my track and glad of it. Denying it does not work, so I continue on as foolishly as it may seem and am carried by what is and may yet be. White birds yellow and violet, how surprising that it kind of works. I am not sure where I go from here but I am so relieved to have found this again. Today held hawks aloft.