caught in a trap

Early this morning, as every morning for the last days and beyond, I was sitting yet again in my makeshift “studio” space trying to work - make something out of the mess inside my brain.

Water paints, graphite, brushes, pencils, sketchbooks, ink.

Twirls and tearings of scrap and good paper.

All damaged now

The entrails of my endeavours…

The guddle on my table was no kinder to my crazed head state.

Water and paint then soluble graphite marking?

Or soluble graphite lines etched into the untouched white before adding colour?

I feel there is something there to chase.

But I can’t catch hold of this illusory creature that is gone before I can make focus and name it.

Whispering out of sight and sniggering.

Slipping away, sidling off.

I am a feart beast caught in a snare.

Tormented as thoughts constrain and cut in…

But this is just messing about with paper and paint, isn’t it?

It’s not life or death or anything.

And it’s not a piece that anyone would be interested in.

But tightening the more when I think about having no income. 

Living in the time of contagion.

“Make some work. I have to sell some work.

Do a painting. Get some money.”

Pressure.

And it’s not the way I have ever been able to make work.

I hear another voice.

“Just leave it for another day. I thought you weren’t going to do that today?”

Out of the trap at least until tomorrow.