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An Untypical Day

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An Untypical Day

It happens every morning, or evening, or night. You wake in a fit of inspiration. Your mind is running at a hundred miles per hour as you try to sort your thoughts. A mix of of dreams and dramas, work to finish and new work to begin. Scrambling for the nearest pencil and writing surface you start scrawling and scratching away, words, images, forms, much which shall remain unintelligible until you later attempt to decipher after a breakfast and coffee or two.

But you now possess the groundwork for both the beginnings and the endings. Paintings which you've been grappling with for months have suddenly, finally, been grasped. Fresh ideas appear like sunlight after a storm. You take a shower, dry off a bit, and leap in with boundless enthusiasm.

Where are those notes? Oh, look - yesterday's notes too, and the day before. You check around the studio and see that yes, yesterday's work was largely completed, good, but in the jumble you find a shopping list for various supplies. At some point you'll have to make time to run for the errand, that or start working in charcoal, but that's okay.

"Where was I?" you wonder, looking for a blank canvas, a photograph that had blown off the table, an empty tube of ultramarine, a dried brush you neglected to clean, and finally found, time to get down to work!