Pulling out the brushes from their locked cabinet, feeling their soft hairs... it felt so good to be holding them again. How many days have gone by?
The first, faithful, coat upon which the whole painting is built.
I've been here before. What number is this? But it has been too long since I last painted one.
I can't remember why I stopped, perhaps I just felt it was time. Perhaps I didn't understand my reason for making them.
Not finished, but at the cries of my youngest it is time to set the Tornado aside for the day. It waits in all its quiet violence for my return...to round it's edges, to give depth to its curled clouds.