Regardless, here's what ran through my mind this afternoon:
Not only is there the wonder of ending-a-day-with-a-painting-that-didn't-exist-at-daybreak that I've exclaimed about previously, but also there is this wonder—if I'd started painting today at, say, 1000a instead of 1225p, the painting I created wouldn't be the one you see below.
A painting is just SO the moment(s) in which it is painted.
Today I played again with making a mark on my paper and then seeing what mark I made next. Each brush stroke or scribble or dab invited me to the next. This approach is still so new to me. So uncharted. So exhilarating. So freeing.
I started with paint, using both ends of my brush, and from there jumped from paint to ink to paint to ink to paint to ink to wax pastel to oil pastel. Eventually, the painting felt complete so I stopped.
7.5x5.5", acrylic, ink, and pastels on canvas paper