Back to painting. Stop moving, travelling, time to process all that is done. I paint paint paint. I notice that forms come and dissolve again, colours too. The works stay in a formless flux. Like most of my works actually. I do feel good in that formless, slow, continuously transforming movement. It is only when it moves too fast that I start to feel uncomfortable and start to think too much.
Some people really don't like the absence of clear forms in my work.
I was thinking about my letters, home, my homesickness and homelessness and the line it marks in my history. I would love to bring that story to an end.
The feeling of being home and being totally relaxed and at ease often goes together with images of endless spaces, like the universe, the ocean, wide empty landscapes with views as far as the eyes can see... The space makes me feel free and very joyful, an ecstatic joy, a giggle, the enjoyment of adventure making me run or even fly. It is so much fun to move in that freedom. I am myself again but it is not me. I am stone and earth, I am wind and sky, I am stars and sand, I am water and light. I have many faces and am many creatures. I am home.
Solid matter start to drip and mould in my hands, like the dripping watches in the painting of Salvador Dali. While mixing the elements new Life appears. Yellow and blue, as light and water creating the greens of plants. Red sparks as boosts of energy from which forms start to grow, rippling outwards.