I’ve noticed an interesting change in my creative composition. The more I become enamored with acrylic painting, and want to paint, the less words I have to write.
It’s the oddest thing because I’ve never been at a loss for words or lacked something to write about. In fact, I’ve processed my thoughts, feelings, and experiences with a pen since I was twenty-years-old—thirty-four years and counting.
So when this fixation with painting really took hold in me over the past few months, I noticed a lot of befuddling, wordless mornings. So while the words flow this morning, I’m jotting down some observations about painting that might be part of the puzzle: