I thought I was painting out of anger.
It had been a brutal day at work, another long, heavy week, and I didn’t choose colours so much as throw them onto the paper. Whatever shade echoed how I felt in that moment, I let it spill. I truly believed I was angry.
Or maybe… it wasn’t the anger of the work load. Maybe it was something deeper. A colour I was craving without realising it.
 
When I stepped back, it hit me. This wasn’t rage. This was my love palette. The same colours I once used in a piece inspired entirely by my love, my muse. The exact hues, the exact warmths and shadows. I hadn’t noticed it at all. Not until a friend pointed out that every shade was identical to that painting.
 
Now, looking at it with clearer eyes,
I understand. I wasn’t angry at the day. I wasn’t angry at the week. I was angry because I didn’t come home to my heart. 
 
 
It’s a mixed medium painting on 300 gsm paper.