I have a fondness for paint. I love the smell of it and the feel of it as much as I do the look of it. I love the action of painting. It is like dancing with the easel and the canvas, the constant stepping to and fro, leaving marks as I go.
We have a tendency to see faces in the abstract, like the man in the moon or Jesus on toast. From birth, we are drawn to faces. Infants look at faces longer than anything else. Faces can tell stories without uttering a word. Saint Jerome said, "The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart."
Ink is as beautiful as it is unforgiving but hard not to love. Reminds me of some past romances.