I am in an upset. That's how I am. I'm not going to go into a rant. It feels like everywhere I turn people are ranting. Or raving. But you know how it is when at the end of the day, in the stillness and the dark, you just feel rotten? Not like you have a headache or like you're coming down with a cold, but just a feeling of unease. Like how can I sleep with this feeling of doom wafting over me?
That's how I felt last night as I was laying in bed wanting to nod off.
My eyes wide open I spied a piece of paper I had unearthed earlier in the evening. It was large, 22"x30", the size of my usual watercolor paper, but had a weird texture. It felt like it had a plastic coating. I don't know where it came from or why I had it. I sat down at my table and tore it in half so it would fit on my drawing board.
There's always a jar of clean water, a box of colors and a variety of brushes waiting for me. I taped the paper to the board and just stared at it, noticing it's texture, how the masking tape secured the edges, and the little tear I accidentally
made in one corner as I was preparing it.
I picked up a brush that had a little wooden handle and a sponge head made of that soft, dark grey foam. It took a few tries to get the paint on it and then onto the paper. I dipped and dabbed, pushed and dragged, totally bypassing the tumult in my head. I looked up to survey what I had done. I was glad that it was now on paper and no longer inside...well, mostly.
