Blinded Vision

It's always a good feeling to create a new painting. As I go, things take on a blurry outline, recognizable images start to emerge. As I near the end, things begin to stand out, not always as I had seen them in my head, but in their own form. They seem to come to life under my fingers following their own strange rules. 

But that's not the case lately. As my fingers lay out the color, trying to give the images in my head a form, the form becomes twisted and unrecognizable. It refuses to obey me or even be counselled by me. It comes out flat, dead, unrecognizable except to itself. The synergy between my head and my fingers is being demolished by the anxiety that has been broiling inside me for the past few weeks. 

It's a transitory anxiety, one caused by the illness in the family of an older member. With the person's age, one of the probable outcomes is loss. The future remains unknown, uncertainty rules, and my inner vision has become clouded. Life has been put on a temporary hold. How temporary remains to be seen.