Every layer a surprise.
Every layer an internal journey.
Today, an excerpt I've already quoted more than once from Cynthia Voigt's A Solitary Blue surfaces yet again:
This had been the pattern of his days on the back creek, too: he would move the boat out until he felt more frightened than he had the courage to match; then he would anchor and wait.
I was completely smitten by layer 3, and could easily have stopped then, based on nothing more than the thrill of the distance I'd moved the boat. But I anchored, waited, moved again.
I get attached. I let go.
I anchor. I move out.
I'm cautious. I throw caution to the wind.
Today I use oil pastels, nylon screen and house paint, ink pen, different house paint, wood staining pad.