I sit in my quiet studio painting.
I am way beyond the thinking planning sketching drawing stages.
I am painting.
I am in the zone.
Time stands still.
Pain is irrelevant here, although I know that later I will pay the price for forcing my body to sit up and do this work.
The outside noises are hushed. Nothing exists here except for brushes paint and water.
I have no hands.
I have no eyes.
I have no thoughts.
I am the brush I am the paint I am the water. These things are myself.
I paint. Shape and color flow from the tip of my brush. And some point invention becomes revision. So I sit revising and revising until there it is. The moment of Done.
It is a mystery.
It is beyond talent and training.
This is the gift: understanding the map of my art, knowing when to start and knowing when to stop.
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