Last night I lay in bed thinking of where to go with an oil painting that has got me stumped. I do not like oils. I do not like pulling nose hairs. I have no natural ability but I want to keep pushing. And practicing. And pushing. And pulling nose hairs. Please look at these images. I make them everyday in respiration. I’m a zebra mussel attached and breathing. I filter thick human lake mud and make more clear and empty, maybe innocent. I dream of painting in my sleep that rare and nostalgic blue to pop out once or twice a December in a lifetime.
They have a look of consternation on their faces. Are they worried about those old husbands' tales of the fearsome antipodlean crocodukz?
Of course. I feel these creatures wear my inner look:)
I'm not sure that there's ugly enough imagery to convey my inner look!
Ha ha! You’re one of the greatest optimists I know!