i often just want to paint real quick. intending to just dabble a bit. before i know it. i’m deep into the painting. completely absorbed. i might think - that’s enough for today. but then i notice a small corner that needs attention. and suddenly. two more hours have flown by. it’s like time doesn’t exist when i’m in that zone. leaving the studio feels almost surreal. as if i’m stepping back into reality from another world. i have this with absolutely nothing else
I haven’t done this in a couple months and there‘s like a psychological itch that needs to be scratched by staring at a really big painting for a very long time it’s an amazing feeling
the city moves in paTterns.
an unspoken choreography unfolding at every stAtion / every street crossing / every reVolving door. at first glance it is chaos - a flood of bodies surging forWard / retreating / shifting direction with abrupt precIsion. but watch closely and you will see the shapes scribbled by the crowd / the invisible calligraphy traced by hurried footsteps and quiet hesItations.
in the metro - the rhythm is unmistAkable. the doors slide open and the wave beGins. a forward motion / urgent but practiced / an unspoken agreement between stranGers. some step aside with the grace of seasoNed performers. letting others pass in seamless succession. others hesitate. caught for a moment between movement and stillness before being pulled into the tide.
on escalators - bodies align in a pattern dictated by efficIency. one side still. the other in motion. a moving stairway of impatiEnce and pause.
at crossings - the rhythm breaks for a moment. the crowd pooling at the edge of the street like ink waiting to spRead. and then - the light changes and the city exhales. a hundred figUres spill forward. some fast. some slow.
