It begins with a line.
I can’t say that’s the start of it, because there have literally been months of thinking, of planning, and conceiving. Until that first line, I have only been dreaming.
Artful study of subject matter, and colours, remaining cognizant of light and shadows, then plotting it out was only preparation.
A sketch is merely a dream on paper.
Then you make that first mark on the canvas: and then another. Line after line, so many to go; something to guide you. Intuition is not enough. Not yet.
It looks nothing like it will, or what you want it to. Art can take time.
It will evolve with the muse of the moment.
It is a work in progress.
Time and patience; I seem short of both, yet I will keep the pencil moving.
Line by line, by line, it will be some time before the brush touches the canvas.
The paint is waiting: it more patient that I.
Right now what matters is all I have undertaken; a responsibility to my creative self. The first line on the canvas signs my own contract with commitment.
It is happening.
Line by line.
By desire or design.