A few people said I should keep the painting as it was and do no more. But when agreed to, then they changed their mind. Said they like my complicated stuff better. It was like they wanted to question me further.
For painting is like speaking. It’s just communication. About being part of nature, machines, humanity, all those things I’m contained by and want to expression my opinion on or discuss. It comes from the things I sense. Stuff I can never tell people in a “real” conversation, without working on the idea myself a fair bit. It's a dream. Mumbled recollections of dreams to other people often just do not equate to anything reasonable or meaningful.
So, I painted more and this was what came out:
Now I feel more satisfied. I needed to know about a few of the things going on here. It’s sorted stuff out for me, better than any sleeping dream can.
Think the more I use internet the more the square screen appears in the paint. So, I’ve been thinking about quitting blogging for a bit. Maybe. I’m not sure yet. I haven’t really quite made the year mark yet. Took me a while to actually work out that there was a difference between a page element and a blog post. But, I was using places like library internet. And cranky people would stand behind me wanting their ‘hour” to start before I finished mine. So I’d end up sending a blank email to someone in a moment of mundane panic. Hmm. Good to have a place to relax with it. It’s been interesting getting to know all this stuff that’s been around for years. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Or some sort of sleeping printcess. There’s so much other stuff everyone does that I’ve never done. But then, they don’t get to visualise flying dryad dragons.
People spend a lot of money for something that doesn’t work, and that’s art see. But what has worth and does work, is not always as it seems; for currency is a conceptual means and fashion dips the die in deep freeze before rolling it upon the sands of lore.
I have a no paint water down the drain policy and a no pharmaceutical medicine in my piss policy, for quite a few selfish reasons… but mostly because I like to eat fish. I don’t eat them very often, maybe once or twice a month, maybe less. When I start to feel really, really sad I know I have to go out and gobble a fish’s soul. And if it wasn’t for the fish I’ve consumed in my lifetime, I’d probably be totally soulless. The fish flesh tells me tales. It becomes part of who I am. 
I end up creating visuals that scuba divers recognise, but I’ve never seen. (Sea tubas apparently) 
The fish I gobbled recently was that big-eyed beauty also called blue-eye or blue-nose. I think it is the most gorgeous fish imaginable. And there it was in the shop, a precious rare catch. The shop attendant held it gently in his hands, remembering what the creature looked like before it was a slice of translucent almost ready to devour. 
It is so hard to know which fish when so much is wasted in by-catch. No one would waste blue-eye though, unless they had no taste or eyes, but in netting a prize fish other creatures get caught as well, some of which are protected species that people are legally not allowed to catch and eat.
A friend recently said to me, “Your paintings are too detailed. People can’t be bothered looking at details.”
