I got myself into a bit of a tizz last night. I bubble up like a pressure cooker sometimes. I then do impulsive things, but I’m working on doing things that are less catastrophic. I ate copious amounts of dark chocolate. No joy. I snipped random chunks out of my hair. Stopped. (Must make hair dressers appointment tomorrow…) I then lay on the floor for over 45 minutes, feeling my heart pulse + my body buzz with the whirring contents of my chaotic noodle.

The final outcome was that which is pictured. I barely remember doing it. I just grabbed charcoal, my least favourite medium, + scrawled it out. It’s nothing of quality, but today I observed the completely different nature of my creativity. Usually, my art is like surgery. Ridiculously precise. I use media which I can control + I won’t accept anything less than what I perceive as perfect. I never finish. I’m never happy. I never even create anymore, because nothing is good enough. This was so different. I just splurged. Random strokes. No pencil sketch to begin with. Impulsive.

I’m pretty chuffed, because I just leg go. I never let go.