After the mountains of verbiage, the best thing we can do is just paint. As soon as I let that part of me that *thinks* about color and shape make any decisions, the painting is lost. It becomes just another pleasant orchestration. I wrote something reasonably on target about it some time back, but can't find it. I think I remember the gist of it.---You're the rider on the big horse. It might be the most powerful and most clever horse ever ridden. The question is what kind of rider will you be?The blind rider will lock it up or, worse, strap that mighty beast to a mill to grind corn.The clumsy rider will think he's on a mule and hold out a carrot.The stupid and arrogant rider will tighten up on the reigns, dig in his spurs, and force the horse down a particular path - doing little better than the blind rider.The good rider? He'll give it plenty of reign. See where it wanders. Let it buck. Let it run. Let it trot if it wants. It'll lead him to places in the woods he's never seen. Some days it'll just want to munch on the same patch of clovers. He knows that he trying to control the beast is a mistake. It's a partnership. A pairing. A romance. The sad rider? The one sitting on nothing thinking he's astride a thoroughbred, confused when he goes no where.---Too gushy? I don't care.
-----
