Several days before going out to paint I sent out a group email to around 25 local artists inviting them to join me to paint. The night before I was talking to a friend on the phone. He told me that it was going to be a cold day Tuesday Feb 7th - -22degree C. I woke up at 5:30 am but did not get out of bed until almost 8am.

Had breakfast with Erika and Isabelle. Put my cloths on and got my equipment ready.

Biked down to the river to paint.

I was pretty pumped. It was a beautiful day. It was cold, but not that cold. Nothing that really bothered me to be honest. I painting for seven hours. I was 95% complete. I was almost out of white paint. I had used up two large tubes aswell as a medium size tube of white.

My mind was really fragile. Negative thoughts flooded my mind. A cloud popped, a glass broke, my mind was not right. Many things were taking over.... I looked at the painting. There was a section that troubled me, so I scraped it with my palette knife. And then I just said fuck it. And destroyed the painting. It all seems bull shit. The painting did not have that wind of energy.

I had a solo show in January. Nothing sold. I had worked so hard for over a year. I was pretty disappointed. I have several individuals who are expressing interest and offering support. But nothing has fallen into place for many days.

I lived in London England for 6 plus years, managed to do rather well for myself and family. And decided to move back to Canada so that my daughter could be around Erika's family and go to a better school.

Before moving overseas I lived in Vancouver. I worked so hard as an artist in Vancouver and despite all my efforts I found I was living on skid row and totally fucked.

Perhaps this is too much information. I should hide my fears, my failures. Speak about how successful I am ... blah blah blah. Perhaps I should sell success.

All I can say is two days later I got back in the studio and managed to complete two more medium large paintings (thumb nails below).

Never stop.