A new painting begins as something not quite there; a colour or colours seen together, a need to draw without knowing where the line will go, a twist of the wrist that makes a mark.
I reach for a certain brush, a tube of paint and begin. Soon I am there in that place where I sense a flow, sometimes smooth, often jerky , quick or slow, strong or soft.
I hope for a masterpiece and am happy with less but tomorrow I will try again.
Others may work differently. There are no rules. The rules for making the perfect painting haven’t been invented yet and never will be. great art requires the rules to be broken over and over again.