I don't want to tell you about the hum drum of my studio life or how many paintings I have or have not completed or how much I have cleaned this week. By the way, I did hoover the place this morning and I ate soup in my makeshift studio luncheonette for the second day in a row. And I am sure that the cafe at the Out of the Blue Drill Hall actually puts love into their soup and because of this, it is the best soup in all of Edinburgh or certainly Leith.
What I want to write about is the flicker at my finger tips and the spark at the back of my brain that always comes from an upheaval or dissatisfaction and then is channeled into the dream world that I like best. You don't have to understand this or make sense of it. All I know is that when this place inside switches on, I am able to see things more clearly and honestly. I love the vulnerability and art that comes from this place. I love the nest building and escaping involved. A perfect storm makes the perfect nest of desperate creativity.
I know when I am approaching this place. I might be on the verge of tears, I might be more ridiculous than usual and the music might seem even sweeter. My self-censorship shield is delightfully lowered.
Everything I ever meant to say. Ten new works on paper.