Making paintings has been hard for me lately.

Maybe it is the election.

Maybe it is my online teaching.

Maybe it is my forthcoming transition from academic artist to just an artist.

Maybe it is the dead flowers.

Maybe it is the stupid f’n election.

Maybe it is my quest for poetry.

Maybe it is my suspicion of nothingness.

Maybe it is that what I see is so blindly beautiful that I can hardly stand it.

Maybe it is death.

Maybe it is life.

Maybe it is the dead flowers.

Maybe it is the dirt on the floor.

Maybe it is in the water.

Maybe it is that bizarre dream where I didn’t have any hands.

Maybe it is something that I never admit.

Maybe it is the fear of painting.

Maybe it is the fear of not painting.

Maybe it is that little familiar feeling of worthlessness.

Maybe it is the Goddess that screams at me.

Maybe it is the Goddess that soothes me.

Maybe it is the f’n election.

Maybe it is the tax man.

Maybe it is something that I nevernevernevernever admit to anyone.

Maybe it is something I am declaring right now.

Maybe it is the color orange, or blue, or green, or red, or purple.

Maybe it is all those elusive colors that will forever confuse me.

Maybe it is love.

Maybe it is hate.

Maybe it is that FUCKING rag over in the corner that hasn’t moved in five years.

Maybe it is there for a reason.

Maybe it is the painting that I can’t seem to finish.

Maybe it is the painting that I will never do, no matter how hard I try to do it.

Maybe it is the painting that sits there staring back at me laughing.

Maybe it is that brilliant dream of youth.

Maybe it is the problem of my death.

Maybe it is the dust motes that never seem to go anywhere.

Maybe it is miracles.

Maybe it is beauty. Maybe it is ugly.

Maybe.

I’ll go paint now.