My world of words is still pretty much silent.

I guess I’ll stay in this alternative artistic reality of shapes and colours until I come out of the emotional void I’ve been struggling with for months.

It feels strange. I’m not a painter; I’m a writer. I’ve been one since I learned how to read and write, and started making stories in my head. On the other hand, even though I studied art history and learned how to appreciate art, I don’t know how to draw, and I don’t understand perspective. And now, I feel like a cheater, a stranger in a strange land trying to blend in.

Fluid art is therapeutic and relaxing, though, and I hope I’ll continue to play with paints and canvases once my true self re-emerges.

I apologize to my fellow bloggers for this recent lack of communication.

The good news – I spent several hours yesterday writing.

So I’ll be back, I promise.