Mon. no white left. I tube up a new bulk tin of titanium white no2 as an opening chore - an aside to ease in the day. I have white now in plenty.
the day is about 'patience' calling for a gentle assimilation of sensation and then a thoughtful application.
I have a small 'settlement' oil sketch up as a test bed for the action.
Michelangelo's late poems and feelings stimulate -'the power divine alone can alter fate' as an old man he also speaks of 'a tired and fragile husk'
Ruth slips me a warm apple turnover and a fresh coffee in the passing sunshine. I return to the work in hand.
The placement of colour is ridiculously easy. Given the variables of desire and prism, intellectually it becomes is fiendishly difficult, so the heart must guide.
twitter passed a quote by me this morning mentioned Picasso saying something like 'copying others is valid to a point - copying yourself is fatal'.
Conil Beach (above) in the form of a small drawing of takes my interest, a new board goes up.
the secret life of under-painting is played out in some inverted loop of choices
What about a horse? I have one here, I shall paint a horse - why not? a horse is good.
This horse is wrong, I will change it, see it is changed.
into my upbeat day come two messengers with dark news of death and the shadow of death. Art and life is not only dreams, it is a fierce reality in black and white.