Local image #137
2026, Acrylic on board, 30x30cm
Cloud Dancer. Pantone colour of the year is Cloud Dancer. I go into the cloud of unknowing. I will try to remember who you are; what are you like?
The fruit of the Spirit is joy and peace, but I don't seem very joyful or peaceful when I am recognising evil. You don't seem very joyful or peaceful when you are doing that either.
White on white. We are going to see the difference in white on white. Our aesthetics are going to become more attuned to the field of reality in doing so. We are going to see things that other people cannot see.
The sweeping of a grass broom. Panic. I think I felt something like panic there. I felt the presence of something divine. It's quite terrible—terrifying, terror. Like slipping off a cliff into a vast abyss, a nothingness. A moment where all grounding is lost, it seems. A traumatic moment.
I am all colour-coded today. The ground shakes beneath me. It's difficult to hit the right buttons when that is happening.
'A writer, you say? Well, in that case, I shall defer to you; you who make things right.'
Little sperm-like tadpoles swimming through this one. It is another nakedness.
27 July 2026
I don't know how to describe that. What did I see? I don't know exactly what that was. A longish shape, like jelly, but attached to a frame, transparent, refracting light through it, somewhere in the mountains.
Water and Mountain. Garden of Eden. The place where this world and the divine overlap.
Velvet texture. Sand, grass, and a rhythm going through it. Causing things to coalesce. Differentiate. Subtle variations.
Two tiny coffee-drop stains and a small shoe smudge added. Its purity further adulterated.
The movements at the beginning. Shallow water over beach sand. Water moving the sand. A very misty landscape. Nothing modern or artificial. Peaceful. Tranquil. Calming. Comforting. Vibrations from the mouth of creation. Vibrating sand as the sand-worm approaches. Tiptoeing through the desert so that the sand-worm does not find me.
Writing slowly. It will be read fast.
The divine realm rubbing up against this world through the painting, making slight indentations and vibrations on the surface. Trying to work out how to appear. Fingers or claws.
The fruit of the Spirit is joy and peace, but I don't seem very joyful or peaceful when I am recognising evil. You don't seem very joyful or peaceful when you are doing that either.
White on white. We are going to see the difference in white on white. Our aesthetics are going to become more attuned to the field of reality in doing so. We are going to see things that other people cannot see.
The sweeping of a grass broom. Panic. I think I felt something like panic there. I felt the presence of something divine. It's quite terrible—terrifying, terror. Like slipping off a cliff into a vast abyss, a nothingness. A moment where all grounding is lost, it seems. A traumatic moment.
I am all colour-coded today. The ground shakes beneath me. It's difficult to hit the right buttons when that is happening.
'A writer, you say? Well, in that case, I shall defer to you; you who make things right.'
Little sperm-like tadpoles swimming through this one. It is another nakedness.
27 July 2026
I don't know how to describe that. What did I see? I don't know exactly what that was. A longish shape, like jelly, but attached to a frame, transparent, refracting light through it, somewhere in the mountains.
Water and Mountain. Garden of Eden. The place where this world and the divine overlap.
Velvet texture. Sand, grass, and a rhythm going through it. Causing things to coalesce. Differentiate. Subtle variations.
Two tiny coffee-drop stains and a small shoe smudge added. Its purity further adulterated.
The movements at the beginning. Shallow water over beach sand. Water moving the sand. A very misty landscape. Nothing modern or artificial. Peaceful. Tranquil. Calming. Comforting. Vibrations from the mouth of creation. Vibrating sand as the sand-worm approaches. Tiptoeing through the desert so that the sand-worm does not find me.
Writing slowly. It will be read fast.
The divine realm rubbing up against this world through the painting, making slight indentations and vibrations on the surface. Trying to work out how to appear. Fingers or claws.