Spasm … mmm funny name for a painting don’t you think. I had been painting for a while when this one came in. The more I painted the more the process became one of embodiment, the line between where I ended and the painting began blurred. Maybe this is a good process for the codependent to go with, unsure of connecting to yourself, you fill the space with the feelings issues and problems of others. The painting entered into me, the space depicted is very much an internal one. Spasm, located in a muscle perhaps conjoined the awkwardness of painting on the ground, no delicate touches on a pre-stretched canvas here. It was raw, physical, bounded by my physical capacity to stretch touch grind the paint into the surface. My attention draws inwards on painting. I am aware of my body my physical strengths, fuzzy headed in distinct, the particular ness comes afterwards, in addressing what happened. I don’t care when I am doing, I care when I am finished. The finished becomes finished when the painting feels like something, not good or bad but feels like something tangible touchable readable, the painting returns a feeling towards me.



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