The water spreads across the paper before I can stop it. One color bleeds into another, carrying pigment farther than I intended. I wait. I observe. There is no correcting it. I don’t want to correct it. I surrender completely to the process.
A shape appears. Perhaps a face. I am in conversation with something that wants to appear. I allow the images to introduce themselves. The painting tells me what it wants. I simply listen and feel.
My paintbrush leads, and I follow. Collecting stories from my ancestors and guidance from my dad.