It is 10:58 p.m. and all I want to do is paint. So badly. But my studio hasn't been set up (in years now). I have no means to make art anymore. When I can't figure things out, when I feel stuck, it is usually because I'm not practicing...not making...my mind stretches, solves, soothes best when I can paint. I try to fill this hole with other things (blogging, cooking, sewing, reading, journaling) but none of it really works. I need to be making marks. Again. Again. Again.
Please read this poem.
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