Once in about five years, I get a crafty fit. It’s a condition to beware of, as I’m exceptionally unskilled. That doesn’t prevent me from attempting, pentannually, dyeing, crocheting or (visual artists forbid) painting.
Today I sat down with the determination to paint something. More precisely, to paint nothing, since I can’t paint anything that would look like something, preferably itself. So, to the natural question as to what my artwork represents, I respond nothing.
The mission starts with painting and drinking supplies spread on a plastic bag and a doubtful cat.
I’m attempting the first shaky strokes, while the cat is making free use of my drinks.
Half the coffee is gone, and I’m wondering what the heck I’m doing.
The cat is severely critical of the result so far.
I ran out of coffee and of straight lines, so I’m starting on curly ones.
I want to get all the white space covered with paint.
Soak brush in water, smear it all over the paper and, tada, white space is gone!
P.S. After this painting and photo-taking session, I realised that the reason the photos turned out so poor is that I had my flash turned off all the time. And why, no, I never noticed that the flash wasn’t flashing. That pretty much explains everything.