Someone said, (a couple years ago) they (she) thought I might be (probably was/is) an artist. I first heard this in July 2015. It’s now late February 2018 as I write this. I’ve been buying paint, paper, and brushes, (in limited quantities), ever since.
Maybe, just maybe, I needed another, (just one more) tool before I start.
Maybe.
My personal investigation has been leading me to intentionally insist that the critic/historian sit in the spectator seats rather than have backstage access. Author access.
The creation is first. Edits ever and ever second. Critique? Last later.
These words I write … I wish to shine on you and your inspiration. I cannot create without you and …
… well … it is the ping and the pong that makes the game; the flow, back and forth.
Sometimes … our new thoughts …
Never mind … I have a new easel and a few minutes.
