I'm dreaming again.
In my necklaces.
Whole exhibitions, justifiably intellectual
spare, acute and so on target.
in the now blendings of figure and not figure
of enormity and banality so small
the swish wish of artmaking comes and goes.
I can decide which of the dream shows to do.
Portraits of pregnant politicians.
Black rubbings of book shapes in soft paper
updated portraits of my sons
heros of Black History, Local architecture
Black Ink Gestures suspended in air
an installation of space pauses
with masks or no masks
Maps - geography of place and event
super impostitions and sheer drapery,
that's what I make in my head mind.
why don't I just paint?