art journal, March 9, 2018

I couldn't make a hazy, serene sky,
because it was not in me. 
I couldn't make rolling fields of wildflowers,
because something else is trying to get out.
Somewhere else.
I don't have the words, that's why I paint.
I drop rich, deep colors all over the soft prairie-desert-like landscape,
looking for a truer place. 
I have to trust in the process and yell at the canvas.
I actually yell.
What are you?
I know you're in there.
New, strong colors exhale downward, running freely.
Wherever we are going-- this is so much better.