painting diary

I am not leaving the house deep in some odd fairy tale of my own, in the centre of town, on the second flor communicating to birds in pictures. On one wall I have painted a spring forest. It is comming to life each day with inertia I can not control. The more I paint the more deatails I know I have to add, the forest is quite alive, the birds in it are engaged in their own activity and even the canvases are falling off the walls when they need to speak to me. On the opposite wall are paintings of sea and sailing boats all blue. Even the huge portrait is blue. Last night I took every painting off the blue wall and turned day sky into night sky. There is something aobut painting the sea, its like painting the deep inside of my self there is no need to look at photographs. The sea is alive and moving in me, colored by the sceens i have breathed in and colors I have heared speak. I can hear it agian, the magnet which pulls at sailors, pulls them away from cities and people pulls at me, like some haunting melancholy love affair, making one leave everything just to be near it . Here the coffee is fhinished, mut get back to the forest, some new white trees grew last night, must go help the others to come out.