How many times do I get to be so excited that I shake, just looking at art? How many times do I get to think up dreamy titles and ideas? How many times will the words and shapes come, that fit the lock to my heart?
How many times will I draw charcoal shapes and feel this thrill? How many times can I repeat myself and not care? How much luxury am I afforded in my work? How many times can I "shift gears" and speak "new languages of line" only to find that I have remained constant and have fooled only myself?
I feel a shake, a rift, a tremor, a tickle, a divine shoogle, a prompt and a want within my work (again). I am holding my jaw tight and my body feels like a rubber band. I am vibrating with ideas and tears come easily to my eyes. I paint over works that were once finished. I draw new shapes on top of older, known and loved ones. I feel the charcoal snap in my hand, I turn the volume up, I dive in and push forward.