Struggle

I struggle to convey my experience. So many efforts to convey it down the years. 

I had hoped to be able to do more pastels. I really love them, their feel, the colours, the clarity and detail they bring. The joy of my fingers smudging them on the paper. I seem to be addicted to looking for more different sorts of pastel to try, yet in truth I have more than I could ever use. 

This love, this desire to get the right colour also drives me. I find it so hard despite a really great choice of quality pastels, to find just the right colour when I draw my corgi. Up at 2am last night with insomnia, I could not help but purchase a small set of burnt sienna shades. Fingers crossed they will help me get a more accurate colour. Yet I fear  my next drawing will have to wait, maybe days, more likely weeks, even months or longer. Instead it must suffice that I stroke the screen with one finger and continue to express the inexpressible anyway that I can. For to not express it is to comply with the crushing devastation that so frequently silences and incapacitates me and lets it win.

So here is my latest attempt. I lie trapped deep inside a place of burning raging agony. There is no way out, no way to the surface to speak or scream even.