I began this I-will-not-call-it-blog because I wanted to write again, and I wanted to bind my visual work together in a neat parcel of words—but there is nothing neat about what I do or even who I am, so I do not think that is going to happen, I do not think this is going to be in any sense of the word neat, nor will it ever resemble a parcel, except perhaps one that is torn to shreds and very stringy. It is my aim to tell you this, now, in this moment, it is my aim to tell you that I am sad because I have made this work for myself, this writing when I am now not so excited about writing as I was then, when I had the idea and then the damned impetus to begin writing about the process of making paintings, which, by the way, continues apace.