I spent the next couple of days working on a larger scale – music plugged in (with no words) and wrote and wrote – I remembered doing this once before on a painting about my mum – after I had finished I collapsed in a heap. I experimented with charcoal, paint, smudging and overwriting to conceal the narrative
Great way for me to express myself, felt like therapy (don’t know if that’s good or bad but twas free)
Headphones in, music up. The painting and smudging felt good, became quite beautiful in parts, undecipherable marks. Looking at them the next day I felt a bit dissapointed because I couldn’t even remember what I had written but I am unsure whether it is important to me or not