Friday 4th August

It is on the fourth day as Norbert that I realise not that I think as an artist, but am one. We travel in blacked out windows on a hurried motorway where the cars don’t simply move but dance from lane to lane between car past car at dangerous speeds. I listen to some music and my brain fires ideas too fast for my hand and pen. Not concrete or good, but letters to words, shapes and lines. Similar to my surroundings, the pylons, factories, pipes and rows and rows of same square houses with sky blue roofs. Scribble, scribble, words are no justification for anything I hope for, but these exercises will help. All, everything will help. Hoping