Time and Longing

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Today's art journal page. I've been watching a lot of Dr. Who lately, and I think that's seeping through...

Today I was painting, (outside...a garage door...not this) and I was suddenly struck by a fearful longing. I wanted to paint! Not the garage door...but really paint, on canvas or paper, with many colours, and to create a piece of art. I could have cried. I could have sat right down in the driveway and bawled my eyes out, the longing was so piercing and so deep. Why have I been avoiding my art desk? Why have I not been making time? I don't know exactly what it was...the heft of a paint brush in my hand, the way the acrylic insinuated itself into every crevice of the wood, like butter melting...but I wanted to make art so badly I could feel the weight of it sitting in my chest and burning behind my eyes. That garage door is lucky that it didn't end up with an aged patina, splodges of cobalt blue and the remaining pages of "1984" matte medium-ed to it! But no, a nice sedate creamy-beige, and I scooped up my art journal, practically whimpering with anticipation, as soon as I was done.

Clearly I need to paint more, art not garages, although the garage door looks pretty darn good too.