Sea Change

It was really only a matter of time before I discovered that the constant torture in the back of my mind was prompting me to start flooding the stagnant sketch paper in my abandoned 'study' with graphite and charchoal and paint.

I had completely forgotten that I was a riverbed for a powerful source of liquid art to flow over, that the promises of my youthful explorations with the medium lay captured behind a dam wall of time and online marketing banners and anti-creative clients and all the other mundane computer work I do to pay the rent.

Once I opened that dusty old pathway for the first trickle of drawings and dabbings, I could not restore the balance. The river was coming down.