Today, I painted.
And I got in the groove. It happens occasionally. It’s the…thingy. For an hour or two, you can’t lay a stroke wrong. Time sort of wanders off. It’s cool when it happens. It doesn’t happen very often. If I could tap into it at will, they would find me dehydrated, starved, twitching with sleep-deprivation, my wrists ginked up like frost-killed tree roots and my eyes shot with a fine red mesh, sitting in a pile of my own art and/or waste material.
Fortunately for all involved, I can’t tap into it at will, and it doesn’t last for more than a few hours, and leaves me wrung out like an elderly squeegee afterwards, but that’s generally enough. I had only intended to get the painting started–it’s one of the illos for Mongoose–and instead I did the entire piece in one mad sprint. And as I worked, the back of my brain went “Pling! Pling! Twang!” and a teeny voice arose from within the army of three-legged frogs on wheels and wombats wandering around with vague expressions and somewhat horrified lizards, and said “Yes. This is it. This is the style. This is where I want my art to go, at least for awhile.”
And that is an excellent feeling, although I am not sure if I can trust it, since I get loopy and weird when I’m in that particular painting trance, and I sorta wish I could show y’all, the painting, but, y’know, NDA and all. But I’ll post it as soon as I can.