I’ve begun writing about my drawing of bleak places. I delve. I am a mole scratching its way through a tunnel of blackly grit. I don’t know where I am going. It is a warren of ideas. I burrow. Not much light yet but there is something like pleasure in this beginning. I hold to that. So much of this research so far has been full of frightening unknowns, and will continue to be so for the foreseeable future, I suspect. I am not brave. I am a child, a forever child, stepping out into this. So uncertain. I have no certainty in anything that I do. Grant me the courage to open myself. To at least open myself to what is and what will or is coming. Just be open and be prepared to yield. Is that enough?
