And I don't do much painting. I brood around it. I putter, mope, yearn, almost twiddle my thumbs. Lack of confidence, fear of f***ing up, laziness, inertia. Taking the opportunity to paint for granted. Guilt guilt guilt. This was drummed into me by Mum. "You kids are lazy. You never help Mummy."
It's just that it's so shocking, to make a mistake. I grieve at almost every step of painting. Sometimes it's a joy. Usually, it's trying not to fall flat on my face. The fantastical painting I did last time was pretty breezy. The photograph based one I'm working on now is becoming a pleasure, I admit. I'm still afraid it might bite me though.