Before I arrived on location I picked up two slices of pizza and a can of Pepsi. Need some fuel for the night... helps keep you warm.

It being Sunday night... I drove my car on to the sidewalk / no parking. It was -22 degrees but felt like -25 degrees with the wind chill.

My paint was all warm from being heated in the car. So it was easy to squeeze the paint out.

It did not take long for my can of Pepsi to turn to ice. It was cold outside.

I used a piece of charcoal from the wood burning stove. Isabelle (my daughter, age 8) was using it on Tuesday to draw. One week on, one week off. Tuesdays with Dad. Thursdays with Mom. The charcoal was very ... well something I put in my pocket and wished to incorporate into my painting.

The canvas was as large as my car could transport. The paint on my palette rapidly got inhaled. So I had to get more paint out of the tubes. Squeezing the paint out of the metal tubes was fucking hard. I would like to use another word other than fucking... but that word truly embodies the sentiment. My fingers got really cold fast. Cold metal tubes of paint. After some time my fingers started to scream with intense pain. Like I missed a nail with a hammer. This was good. I was here for a reason. And all was working the way I had anticipated. I was there. I was able to focus on painting completely. It was a good night to paint.

Earlier that week the energy was building up inside my soul. I was finding it very difficult. My mind was feeling like sand paper. Intense mental pain overwhelmed me. January 15th would have been our 13th wedding anniversary, 17 years together. It was a cold night. This was good. The sky would be dark. Sunday night meant no one around. Silence. Pure. Empty. Night.

The winter cold would give me physical paint to help me transfer or help elliviate the emotional pain.

The location was chosen for the need for structure. The composition was arranged to reflect contemplation, balance, void, power, emptiness..

I signed it on the bottom left... as I did not wish to interrupt the red flow of the bottom right hand.

When I got home... I put the painting in the gallery. I put in on the wall behind my office computer. I sat in a chair and looked at it for a while.

Later that night... I could not sleep. Too much energy. My mind was floating. Just could not sleep. There was something in the painting that was simply not correct. So rather than lay in bed. I went downstairs. around 2:37 am. The large red line was not 90 degrees. It had a slight movement to it that was not level. So I made a 2 minute adjustment. I worked on this painting with a t-shirt and underwear, plus some socks. I left the painting to be rather unstable, human, painterly, lacking order, compulsive obsessive, movement, solid, still, balanced, but fragmented.

I consider this painting to be one of my best works. Really feel a deep sense of satisfication. The red pigment is Michael Harding Oil Colour... it is the best, highest quality paint in the world. Michael Harding really does make the best paint. Nothing compares to his paint.

with love

Patrick