The speed at which things happen, oil on board, 70 x 70 cm
I cut my hand on the broken glass jar I had been using to wash my brushes painting this picture. It took no time at all. One minute I had sensation in my index finger, the next minute I had severed the nerve.
It is funny that I had been holding in my mind the title of the painting as I worked; willing the world to show me something through the crucible of my imagination and bring it into my life.
Am I calling the tune? Or is the tune calling me?