September 22, 2002
I do not know my paint box.
I cannot repeat with certainty, or at all, things which came off the knife three days past.
The pattern won't show, the knife won't move, the colors won't come.
Tonight a farce, a grim joke. But not funny - I want to learn the craft.
The craft could support the freedom.
I wonder if I can have them both.
The lesson from Pluche: It can't be forced, it comes as it will. But his hands knew his paintbox, when it lit upon him he could create it.
Not me. Not yet, maybe not ever.