I've been in Michigan and I've been ill. I hadn't painted in a week until today. It felt foreign to hold the knife, to move it across the board, to hear the scraping on my palette, feel the sun on my arms. I sat in my courtyard, recuperating from being flat in bed, not even on the couch. I smeared the colors, the shadows and light of what I saw. It was all the energy I had.
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