[4 August 2023] Savage blooms, a year later, the year after I painted two of the flowers from this plant, a bush. They proliferated quite startlingly, determinedly, to the extent that I could not ignore it. They had never bloomed this much, this fecundly, before. Coincidence? Did all that time I spent painting, in prayer, in contemplation, on this plant, have anything to do with it? I wonder what would happen if I repeatedly painted a two hundred rand note. I think I am desperate enough to try. These flowers seem caught up in a pattern that stretches them awkwardly, flattening them out onto the two-dimensional surface. They clump together into groups, rubbing up against each other, causing friction, a charge to build up, tension. They hassle each other; they fight for height, for the sun. The ones who fight the best spread their petals out as wide as they can, casting shade on the ones below, who grow more stuntedly, some even wither and die. Yet there is so much open space not utilized. There is enough sun for all of them, enough sunlight for all of them. Why do they hassle each other?