Out of almost every oil color and haven’t had the drive to go down and buy more but I do have money put aside for it so its not like im broke and cant afford the paint I just don’t know; its like when I go and buy the paint that the obligations toward it start again and I love to paint but the part of me that just wants to be this transient entity until im dead doesn’t really care about the painting. It’s the part of me that wants to love and make and build that wants to buy the paint but with it so cold outside and every morning the sky is grey and I shiver without any socks on or no one in my bed and the half light of 11 am pours through every little crack of my window until im up and showered and reading but that’s as far as it goes. And I love the work I really do but its just like im asleep inside only making things sporadically. I hate the idea of hibernation because it means no work and no work just means a closer look at the face of the end whatever that is. I’ve got about 3 bottles of red left and a bunch of different green and a smattering of blue if I decide to hammer it out of the bottle but its beginning to just be the tiniest amount. And I ran out of canvas on my last commission but I have so many half done paintings that ill just paint over I have no worry about surfaces. And surfaces are the easiest thing to come by you can just drive around and pick up anything flat that no one seems to want and paint over it and put a picture on it. It was strange after the gallery closed there was a clarity about pursuing that like a great veil was pushed aside and I no longer was muffled by that visage and could only see the point during the creation and the afterwards sort of disappeared. Ever since that vision I haven’t made any attempts to show anything anywhere and the drive to do so was gone like it mattered before and then something inside me changed so that it didn’t matter. The goals with the art stayed the same but suddenly there was a much lighter feeling inside of me afterwards like the joy of creation came back. But I suppose that’s a strange thing because that always comes and goes and its that thing you keep trying to get at, that immense joy that sometimes just is within every cell of your body so you start dancing around real funny alone in a dim room looking at your work and waving a brush in the air and it becomes alive with you so that its watching the joy and it knows what it has done and you know the joy but you still don’t know what its done which comes much later after the work has had time to sit and be what it is knowing that it wont be changed anymore. Sometimes the best moves seem to be those that are almost not moves at all but like an iceberg.