You start with a thought, sometimes without one. Then you make a mark, then before you know it you’re lost. At first you’re scared, but then you accept the fact that you aren’t really in control, as bizarre as it may sound, the work itself dictates to you what it is required. Sometimes it screams, and you hear it loud and clear, other times it lets out less than a whisper. And then there is no end, a work is never complete. It is open, should it be closed, the work dies, and the magic along with it. That, is how I can best explain the act of creating art, for the moment anyway.
Late night ramblings.
