I like goals. I like plans that have an end result.

Painting or any art, is VERY HARD for me to do.

This morning I had so much angst, and I needed to release it.

I took out this canvas and oil paints. And had at it. I don’t even have paint brush cleaner, yet. Oil paints do not dissolve in water, I learned.

I blasted music from August Rush. I squirted tubes of paint, used assorted brushes, and made quite a mess of red on my sleeve. It symbolized the blood of my tears, I figure.

The first hour of painting was all confusion, worry about end product, about not being good enough.

I started putting that frustration into the painting itself—layers upon layers of personal angst atop painting angst, along with many other emotions.

I slowly started to let myself be. It was liberating, though still very uncomfortable.

By the end of the second hour, I said what the heck, and let loose.

I am hoping to continue to paint some more pieces and release a new part of myself onto canvas.

Painting isn’t as comforting to me as words and writing are, and isn’t what I would consider my “gift” or “skill.”

But that is the entire point for me: to explore something without trying to perfect, prove, teach, show, or learn.

To do something without an end goal or audience in mind.

I like to step away from the painting and look at it from far away.