Your post begins here, that's what it says just on this line just before I start typing.
It would be quite poetic if it was true.
But my post doesn't start here (or there, if you're still looking 3 lines up) but in the days, hours and minutes before I start typing. Where I would love to say I was ruminating on what I wanted to say in this barely read corner of the internet (hello single visitor!) but in truth it's largely just me panicking about writing anything at all.
I mean, can't I just draw a picture?
Is that okay?
I mean what do you want me to write here?
I could show you what I've been doing this week artwise I suppose...but chances are you got here via social media so you've already seen these:
I passionately hate charcoal by the way. The touch alone is appalling.
And the sound.
Oh god the sound!
Alternatively I suppose I could write some vague musings on art, arting (NOT farting, get your mind out of the gutter!) and maybe even writing blogs (yeah, we're touching meta here people. But only slightly, nothing inappropriate). But I don't think I have the stomach for that.
I love drawing, painting and all of that stuff. I love doing it, I love watching other people doing it, I love being around people who love it and I love looking at it.
If I could swim in it I would.
But that's a bit dull isn't it?
No glorious pretensions on why for me. It just makes me smile.
Oh well, I guess that's it for now.
Can't even sign off properly...