What is that? That line! That point! That body! And what is the narrative?
And that is the burning question. Not the reflection of a thought, an idea, or a concept, and not even a very short message clawing at my mind, now coming alive on the canvas. I have been wondering what narrative every stroke of the brush is singing into my non-narrative mind, and what gift every color over color will bring for me; becoming the meaning of the eternal time out of mind; the act of exploring every passing moment is what drives the next brush movement, and all the revelation-less intuitions finally lead to an image that tells the narrative of all and none.