Thoughts from a warm bed

It’s a beautiful morning and I’m watching Woody Allen’s Crimes and Misdemeanour in bed while enjoying my morning coffee. I always wake up with this desire to write. Mornings are so full of intimacy. You wake up naked, with a blank mind. Like yesterday was a past life. A mini birth. And the youth of the morning hours is full of promises and hope for the day.

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I will paint later. That’s my promise for today. It’s funny with paintings still in progress. I have this feeling in my body when I think about the piece I’m working on, a tingly feeling. Like I can’t wait to meet up with my lover in a few hours. There’s this sensation of commitment. Passion. Lust. Anticipation. I don’t have these feelings for my digital art. It’s something about the physical act of painting that is like the dance of two lovers. I’m trying to tame the canvas like it’s a wild animal. It makes me feel dominant. But it’s not like I’m always winning. The positions are easily switched. I feel flushed. Sweaty. My body is moving to fit the brush strokes. I’m close. Focused on the delicate details. I’m taking a step back to admire the view. The lines. The space between the lines. Curves. Linear movement. Texture. Structure. Light and shadow. I crave expression. Creation. And after I’m done, I’m exhausted.

I can’t wait to fill the hours of this day with everything that’s in my heart today. It holds every little nuance of me. I will put those into my painting as well.

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