Lost in a psychosis that places painting slightly ahead of breathing in the natural order of importance, I have trouble justifying my existence when that rare downtime appears. This is not an everyday occurrence, just those moments when the coffee pot is full and I’m caught between paintings, waiting for my next shipment of supplies from the Daniel Smith catalog.
At this moment, I have stretched a 72”x80” canvas with a couple coats of gesso and while it needs at least three more layers before I start my under painting, only one more coat rests in the bottom of my container. The bottle of linseed oil has only a half-inch, at most, of liquid remaining.
I find myself literally scraping the bottom of the bucket for that last stretch of glorified white-out. “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” (Richard III, Shakespeare). That’s how it happens, a million perfect ideas and only a stick and bit of paint to apply them. - North
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