I wish I could come home from travel and stick the landing like I was able to do a couple of decades ago. This re entry was particularly brutal; I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm here and not there. I'm not getting much done.
My great consolation as I've said before is painting. Good, bad, indifferent, putting paint to paper always comforts and lifts me. I crave the color and the form.
These daily meditation paintings are particularly so. Done in my journal, they are intimate and friendly.
As Henry Miller said, "Paint what you like and die happy".
This is my therapy. Different paintings for different moods. Some are just to play. Some are more ambitious. Some get painted over when I get finished with looking at them for a few days.
And then I move on.
Einstein said that creativity is intelligence having fun.
That's what's going on here. Just hanging by a thread of paint.