This may sound odd, but I woke up in the middle of the night, fresh from a vivid dream. I wish I had wrote this post immediately, because my memory is already foggy, but basically in the dream I was in a room filled with paint and canvas and brushes. Okay, so that's not necessarily far fetched considering what I do for a living, but the dream was an exaggerated version of my life I guess? But when I woke up again in the morning, I knew I needed to paint something, or at least dabble around with paint and color. I didn't have many colors on hand, so I played around with different brush strokes and paint viscosities. I'm not sure this is exactly a 'painting'. It feels more of a study on techniques. I imagine I'll try this again with a more cohesive idea in mind, but I'm finding as I look at the macro photos I took of what I did, I'm appreciating each small section of the paper more and more. Each little section feels more like art rather than the piece as a whole.
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