The Paint Tells Me Secrets

I've been painting lots of of abstract compositions again lately. It's so relaxing. I've been wondering what I would be doing all the time without a computer and I think the answer would involve a lot of painting. It's something I lapse back into and it always feels peaceful and natural and almost unconscious. I'd like to fill rooms with paintings and live in a house that had a walk-in gallery attached to it, and there would just be paintings everywhere. Taped up on the walls. You could come in and buy a cup of fruit tea and anything you could see, and there'd be shelves filled with zines and small drawings and collages and mystery packages with bows tied around them. It'd be great.

I like the idea of having paintings and pictures all around me, or colourful landscapes like Yayoi Kusama. I guess that's why I stick art up all over my bedroom walls, although I like clean white space too. It doesn't really matter what the space looks like as long as all the colour is inside me. That's what I think about computers too. It doesn't matter if I'm online or not, because I'm here, within myself. It doesn't matter if I keep my art, because I can make more and more and more, so I don't need to keep evidence. It feels good knowing that external things aren't necessary. I'll keep them if I want them, but I don't need them. I guess that's a principle tenet of minimalism, and it's all bound up in being sure of yourself.

It's always nice to know you don't need something. I'm grateful and glad for various things, like art supplies and Crowded House, but I'm sure I would live without them. I feel confident that I would be okay if I was somehow removed from the world and left to make my own one. That's what painting tells me.

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