Dreams are such strange things. They feel so tangible when inside them and often, afterwards too. I can sense them through the day but cannot decipher the images or the meanings. Last night I think there was a badger. Though perhaps his black and white coat was too clean, to distinct to make him a real one. Could he have been a toy?
I went and drew. Oh, such good intentions. I fail and fail again. But at least I am doing it. I am watching and thinking. And I did make that initial contact with the ACW. We shall see. I think about how I might write about practice – possibly I can follow the trajectories of other artists and include quotes? And there must be that mix of artists and writers, for both are to be at play. However, I don’t want it to be dry. I want it to be authentic and spontaneous and warm.
