Scraps

There’s a scrap piece of paper taped to my drawing board. I don’t have to do anything good on this particular sheet. I can slash and swipe my brush across it. I can simply emote through the ink. I can loosen up. I can forget how much I want to accomplish, how much I have to get done before a deadline. For a few minutes, there is nothing but emotion and ink and experimentation.

And then, when I’m done, who knows where it ends up. In a file. On the floor. In the trash. On a blog.

Who knows where it ends up?
warmup1109

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