Last night my head was filled once again with images of a painting I need to do. It was a full length self-portrait. I couldn't make out the clothing, but my body is turned towards the right, and behind me, to the left, the background is dark, and full of images that haunt my conscience. To the right the background is a shimmering pale yellow mixed with the palest of blues. My left hand is reaching behind me, but my body and face are turned to the light, the right. There were ghosts of objects in the light too, which I don't want to dwell on yet. It's not that I'm not wanting to talk about them at all, it's just that they're not fully formed yet and I don't want to solidify the hints I can feel floating in my head, I want to leave them loose at the moment.
I also had a revelation about Jackson Pollock the other evening, but I'll talk about that another time.