Not painting is WONDERFUL. I'm not beset by anxieties; I'm not tortured by indecision; I'm not sleepless nor fretful.
I do hear the voices of my masters, the old painters who steer me, but I can cut that off.
The studio is getting packed up. I thought I was cleaning it but I'm packing up the not-finished, the partially concieved, the many many half-baked notions that clutter the place.
I fear I have two ideas that are simmering - one on how to use black paint, one on topological drawing - but they are so slight I can ignore them.
I'm cooking and reading and walking. These light autumn days are a pleasure.
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