Oh dear. I confess that beautifully pigmented oil paint makes me want to smear it thickly on the floor and roll in it. This I wanted to devour, to become one with, oh the beauty!
Then I heard my logical brain’s helium-voiced warning reminding me of the cost and humiliation of beastly behavior. No rolling allowed. No devouring. No becoming one with. Beauty is to be approached thoughtfully.
At last I am able to look, envision, design, and sketch. Pigment perfection will drape well on a worthy skeleton. The process itself is a delight! Then at last, the paint. Oh, I shall paint!
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