Usually as I paint there is an enjoyment  in the process. But as I come to the end of a painting there can be this sense of self consciousness.

Or a sense of dissatisfaction that comes about what has been produced.

 Starting to learn that it doesn’t matter. That whatever is produced is what has been produced. That’s the way it was going to go. 

Now I more often have the feeling to stop. Usually when I come into the studio and see the piece again I am a lot happier with it than the day before.

As I look at this painting it reminds me of cave paintings.

Moving into the second year of this course I am starting to really get that Art is a visual.

Looking backnowledged at my own painting now. Trading it as my own experience. 

I see a skinless woman. Not grotesque and bloody, but colourful. 

Not scary, but strong and relaxed. Holding up a skin. Presuming it to be my own. 

Like having taken off a garment.

Looking up and wondering at it.Or almost presenting it. Like you would a selfie.

The many colours of being human in the body.

It has got me thinking about visual language. Fascinating really.