Things have been quiet on the artistic front. Life has been getting in the way lately.

I used to spend up to twelve hours a day in the studio, but without knowing what I wanted to paint, or what I wanted to convey. I would just cover canvas after canvas, waiting for something to happen. I also used to write; working through ideas on paper before describing them in line. I don't seem to write any more. I don't think I've stopped altogether, but it's on hiatus.

It's rather nice, just living. It's nice to just experience things first-hand instead of looking for things to document. I don't always need a camera with me any more. It's nice just to walk in the park under the trees by the lake and watch the shadows of leaves dappling the water. It's nice to just see these things without wondering how to make it into a painting.

I still get art guilt, for not being productive. Someone bought me a little moleskine notebook, something I've always wanted but never owned. I've been doing little pencil contour drawings, just to keep my hand in. It's enough, for now.


Meanwhile I'll occupy myself with pedestrian things like sitting in the garden, harassing the neighbour's cat, drinking rum, eating honeydew melon...

It's summer. Cheers, everyone.