Heard the poet Billy Collins last night. Wonderful…he left me with the feeling that having no plan or direction might just be viable. He described the importance of writing about nothing in particular- a found chess piece, a bit of string or maybe a hippo. Stumbling along, bumping into things along the way. The delightfully randomness of life. It is in the in between moments that matter and sometimes illuminate. In a strange way this seems applicable to this practice of painting. However, realizing this has made the starts on several paintings seem thin and not at all juicy with life. So I repainted and started several over.